


We Could Steal Time (Just For One Day)

by mrs_d



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Amenadiel/Linda, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, POV Chloe Decker, Panic Attacks, Porn with Feelings, Post-Season/Series 04, Whump, discussion of suicide, discussion of violence against women, warning for misogyny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 65,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: Four months after Lucifer left Earth, Chloe gets her partner back — just for one day.
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Dan Espinoza, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar, Trixie Espinoza & Lucifer Morningstar
Comments: 279
Kudos: 528





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from [David Bowie](https://youtu.be/YLp2cW7ICCU) (natch).

Chloe wakes up. She makes it ten whole minutes before she remembers.

The last time she felt like this — or something close to this — it had been easier. Because, as messy as her divorce was, Dan has stayed in her life, as co-worker and co-parent. Sure, she felt like half her heart was missing after they split, but his presence, and the need to maintain a normal routine — for the precinct’s sake, for Trixie’s — lessened the pain somewhat.

But this is different. Lucifer is _gone._ There is no normal routine anymore. The thing she’s run to in difficult times before, her job, is no refuge. Her solve rate has dropped significantly, her focus is shot. It’s not the same — she’s not the same — without her partner. 

Her partner. The ancient, immortal fallen angel, an actual son of Actual God, the king of the underworld, who loves—

Chloe forces herself to take a deep breath. She directs her eyes around the room: phone, glass of water, mascara, hand cream, closet door. She reaches out her hand: dresser drawer handle, makeup compact, pill bottle, hairbrush. She listens: tick of the kitchen clock downstairs, traffic outside, hum of the fridge motor. 

Another breath. 

Feeling more grounded thanks to the quick exercise that Linda taught her, Chloe reminds herself of what she was doing before she zoned out. Getting ready for work. A towel is hanging on the hook behind her door. She needs a shower. 

She crosses the hall to the bathroom and closes the door. She carefully takes off her pyjamas and turns on the tap. She devotes all of her attention to getting the temperature just right, feeling the water pass over her fingers and run down her wrists. When it’s perfect, she turns the showerhead on and steps under the spray. 

Focusing on each moment as it comes and goes is the only way she gets through showers anymore. Quiet, uninterrupted time used to be a blessing — raising a kid had taught her to value it — but now it’s a struggle. Being alone with her thoughts is not a pleasant place anymore, because her thoughts are full of him. His eyes, his laugh, his smile, his voice. The way he moved, the swish of fabric as he fell into step beside her, the traces of his expensive cologne that lingered in her car for weeks until one day she finally noticed that the scent had dissipated. 

That was a hard day. And a hard night, too, because she dreamed about him. 

_It’s grief,_ Linda tells her over and over. _Some days are harder than others when you’ve suffered a loss. It’s a normal part of grieving._

And Linda would know — she lost Lucifer, too. They all did.

Chloe shakes herself back to awareness and picks up her shampoo. The liquid oozes out of the cold bottle into her palm, pale pink and pearlescent. It smells like faint roses. She raises it to her scalp and focuses on the feel of the suds under her fingers. She keeps her eyes open, tracing the abstract pattern on the blue shower curtain.

There are days when she’s tempted to do something reckless. A Vegas stint, maybe, or Europe again. Somewhere bright and colorful and full of distractions. That’s how Lucifer dealt with his pain for literally centuries; maybe that’s why the urge is so powerful. 

But it passes. It always passes. She’s the responsible adult, after all, and she knows that it would catch up with her eventually, the same way it caught up with him. And who would take care of everything then? Who would take care of Trixie? 

Trixie, who, despite what she says, is _not_ fine. She’s been called down to the principal’s office more times in the last few months than ever before. Chloe’s sure that Trixie is acting out because she’s angry with her, blaming her for the trauma of being threatened by armed men — again — and for Lucifer leaving. But every time Chloe tries to talk to her about it, she gets one-word answers and doors slammed in her face. 

Conditioner now. Milky white against Chloe’s skin, the scent reminds her of summer — honeysuckle and just a bit more rose. It glides smoothly onto her hair. She massages it through, slow and thorough. 

Dan says that Trixie talks more to him, and she’s been spending a lot of time with Maze — too much, maybe, but Chloe isn’t going to start that fight right now. Trixie needs Maze. She needs time, and patience, and love, the same as anyone going through hard times.

Chloe rinses her hair, runs her fingers through it, watching the water run off the ends. She stares at it longer than she should. She knows she should shut off the water and get out of here, but she can’t move. Her eyes start to sting. Her vision blurs. 

Finally, like a stone monument coming to life, she blinks. Her tears, hotter than the water, disappear down the drain. She draws in a breath, turns off the tap, and tugs the curtain back far enough to grab her towel. She buries her face in it, breathes in the smell of fabric softener. When she raises her head, her eyes are dry and clear. 

She allows herself the distraction of listening to an audiobook while she applies her makeup and chooses an outfit — _Class of 3001,_ for what has to be the twentieth time. By the time she’s dressed, she can hear Trixie moving around downstairs. A glance at the clock tells her that they won’t have long for breakfast. Then Trix will be off to school, Chloe will be at the precinct, and life will move on, as it always does. 

One day, one hour, one minute at a time.

* * *

It’s the second Wednesday of the month, so that means a bi-weekly detectives’ briefing that starts at 8:30. The lieutenant always promises that it’ll only take half an hour, but it always runs late. A little before 9:30, Chloe heads to the breakroom and thanks — well, not God — for microwaves, as the coffee she forgot on her desk is stone-cold. 

While she waits for it to heat, she watches the world outside the window and thinks about the cases that are on her docket. The newest, the death of a woman named Roberta Sutton, rings a faint bell, reminding her of something Dan worked on a few years ago: an assault case, where the victim was left with no memory of the attack that left her in critical condition.

The microwave beeps. Chloe takes her coffee and her thoughts back to her desk. 

There’s likely no connection, Chloe muses, perusing the most recent case file. Other than the fact that the victim is a woman, which describes over half of the cases she works on, Chloe doesn’t think they’re related. 

Then she sees the name of the bar where the victim worked, where her body was found: The Corral. Chloe’s sense of déjà vu gets stronger. That bar was important in the prior case, she’s almost sure of it.

Probably a coincidence, Chloe tells herself, but she gets to her feet anyway and drains the last of her coffee. A quick trip to the archives will confirm it, and then she can get on with her day.

She sees Ella come in on her way out, which means it’s 9:45. Unlike Chloe, whose twelve-hour shift starts and ends at 8, Ella works eight-hour days, 10 to 6 usually— except when a body drops, of course. Chloe could set a watch by her. She waves, but doesn’t slow down; today is one of those mornings where she isn’t sure she can handle Ella’s cheerfulness. At least not right away.

The elevator, thankfully, is full of people — members of the admin team, if she had to guess based on their wardrobe — and their chatter occupies Chloe’s mind all the way to the tenth floor. When the doors open, the group goes left, and Chloe goes right. 

Juan, one of the many clerks who manage the archives, takes a quick moment to look up Chloe’s case. Luckily, it was only two years ago, so it’s still in hard copy — in File Cabinet N, according to Juan. 

“Not that that really narrows it down,” he says, and Chloe smiles, accepting his implied apology. The file cabinets are enormous, she knows, but she declines his offer to help her dig through it. 

She enters the room alone. The archive is like a library — dead silent and a bit stuffy. Still, File Cabinet N faces a wall of windows. Sunlight pours in, catching the swirls of dust that escape when Chloe opens the drawers. It takes three attempts before she finds the right one. 

She pulls out the file, keeping her finger in its place, so she remembers where it goes. This will only take a second, she’s sure. She opens the file, propping it awkwardly against the edge of the cabinet drawer, and begins to read. 

The victim had suffered a gunshot wound to the head. Miraculously, she’d survived, and the attack had ultimately been ruled an attempted suicide. Chloe remembers how unsatisfied Dan had been with that result. He thought that it was more likely attempted murder, and Chloe agreed after he shared his info with her. Things just didn’t add up. 

For starters, the angle of the shot was awkward; the gun had been pointing down when it was fired. Dan thought that indicated that someone taller than the victim had fired, or that the assailant had forced her to sit or kneel before they pulled the trigger. Also, the bullet entered her head on the right side, and the victim was left-handed. Unfortunately, given that the bullet missed its mark, it had been all too easy for an alternate theory to hold water — namely, that her aim was so poor _because_ she’d used her non-dominant hand. 

Then there was the husband, whom Dan considered the prime suspect. His alibi was sketchy at best. He claimed that he’d been at a bar — The Corral, the same country-western bar where Chloe’s current victim was found — when his wife called, threatening to kill herself. According to him, he’d jumped in his truck and sped home, calling 911 fifteen minutes later, when he was a few blocks away. But the receipt from the bar poked holes in this narrative. It showed he was at the bar a lot earlier than he claimed — he explained that he’d cashed out early and stuck around, but the bar didn’t have any surveillance footage to back that up. Also, he’d texted his mistress three times in the fifteen minutes after his wife’s call, when he was supposedly driving like a bat out of Hell to check on her. 

Despite these discrepancies in his story, there hadn’t been enough evidence to make anything stick, especially since the victim had no memory of the incident. She’d been found, barely alive, on the floor of her closet, with photo albums scattered around her, and a journal in which she’d written about how much it hurt to know that her husband was cheating on her. Nothing — no DNA, hair, or clear fingerprints — placed anyone else at the scene.

Dan theorized that the husband shot his wife. Thinking he’d killed her, he waited a bit and called himself from his wife’s phone. Chloe thought that was a good theory, but she also had a suspicion that there had been more going on at the scene, and that a dirty cop had helped to cover the husband’s tracks. God — or someone — knows it wouldn’t be the first time.

She turns a page, to see if there’s more information on The Corral — the only connection between this old case and her current case — but right as she lifts it, a rustle of air behind her knocks it and a few of the other papers out of the folder. She curses the air conditioning and takes her finger out of the drawer so she can bend over and use both hands to collect the pages that fell. 

“Well now, isn’t this a nice sight to come back to,” says a voice behind her. 

Chloe freezes. All thoughts of the case, of the normal life that she’d been living up until this second, vanish like they’d never existed. 

“Not that I’m not enjoying the view, Detective, but aren’t you at least going to say hello?”

It can’t be... but— 

“Lucifer,” Chloe hears herself whisper. 

Slowly, she straightens up, wondering if this is a dream. Maybe she fell asleep during this morning’s meeting. Maybe this morning never happened, and she’s still in bed.

“Chloe,” she hears him reply, softer now, more serious. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she says, honesty slipping through before she can stop it. 

“Can you look at me?”

“No,” she says again. She can’t turn around. She’s afraid he won’t actually be there.

A small exhale from behind her. The one she knows all too well, the one that means he’s been grossly inconvenienced by her minor request. “Very well. I’ll come to you.” 

The papers at her feet flutter and skitter across the floor, but Chloe barely notices. Lucifer is there, he’s right in front of her, in a black suit and white wings, the way he was on the balcony almost four months ago. Every detail is exactly how she remembers him, except for the pocket square of his suit. It should be red, but it’s not. It’s a dull violet instead. 

He twitches his shoulders, making the wings fold back and disappear. She’s still staring at the purple cloth that’s supposed to be red. It’s easier than looking at his face. 

“Chloe?” he says again. He steps closer. She can smell him — his familiar cologne, muted by something smoky. If this is a dream, it’s the most vivid she’s ever had. “Say something, darling, you’re scaring me.”

That catches her attention. He’s the Devil, he’s not supposed to get scared. Her eyes snap up at once and find his — dark and familiar, though uncharacteristically serious. Like they were the night he left. 

“You’re here,” she says, dazed. “You’re... actually here.”

“Of course I am,” he replies with a slight laugh. “Are you afraid you’re hallucinating?”

“A little,” Chloe admits. 

“Well, don’t worry,” he tells her, matter-of-fact. “If you were, I’d have four wings, four faces, and feet like a bull.”

Chloe blinks. Now she knows she’s not dreaming; not even her subconscious could conjure a Lucifer that was so... Lucifer. 

“What?” she says finally, and it actually sounds like her voice this time.

“Never mind,” Lucifer says. “Just a little Biblical humor. It’s not important.”

“No, it’s not,” Chloe agrees. “What are you doing here, Lucifer? How— how are you back?”

“That’s not important, either,” Lucifer says. He closes the distance between them and puts his hands on her waist. “I don’t have much time. Let’s not waste it talking, all right?”

“But why—” she starts to say, but he kisses her before she can finish. 

It’s nothing like the last time they did this — nothing like any of the times they’ve done this. Chloe knows, because she’s spent more than a few sleepless nights cataloging those kisses, wondering what it might have been like, if they’d been on the same page at the same time — if they’d been reading the same book. 

Even now, with him impossibly here, she isn’t sure they are. He’s kissing her like she’s water in the desert. The file folder drops from her hands as he reels her in, and suddenly she can guess at why everyone he’s been with says that he’s responsible for the best night of their life. He’s utterly focused, unbelievably passionate, his tongue moving in ways she wouldn’t have thought possible. Within seconds, Chloe is more turned on than she’s been in years, and she’s so stunned by it she hasn’t even thought to do something to reciprocate. From a distance, she wonders if she has to — the temptation to just give in and let this happen, to let someone else be in charge and take care of her, is stronger than any she’s ever faced. 

She wants this, she wants this _so_ badly, and yet...

“Mmph,” she says into his mouth. “Lucifer,” she tries, when he doesn’t let up.

It comes out muffled, obviously, but she can tell he knows what she said, because he makes a sound — a deep rumble that seems to reverberate from his chest through to hers — and his hands slide down her hips to cradle her ass. A second later he lifts one of her legs and pulls her even closer. She gasps involuntarily at the heat in his groin, the hard length on the other side of his trousers. 

Her arousal kicks up a notch, or ten, to the point that she doesn’t stop him when he somehow gets her blouse unbuttoned. Doesn’t stop him when he lifts her like she weighs nothing and backs her up into the filing cabinet, which rattles and tilts and expels a huge cloud of dust, but doesn’t fall. She doesn’t stop him until his fingers are at the waistband of her slacks — the ugly ones that she wore today because they were all she had clean, and she’s been too depressed to do more than one load of laundry a week since—

Since he left her.

That’s when she grabs his wrist. “Stop,” she breathes. She’s honestly not sure whether she’s talking to him or to herself. “We have to stop.” 

“Why?” Lucifer says into her hair. “You want it.”

He licks over the shell of her ear, and Chloe feels her resolve waver. She steels herself and pulls back. Her head thumps against the edge of the filing cabinet, and the mild pain helps her to focus.

“I know,” she admits. She looks up into his confused eyes. “Put me down. Please?”

With a slight nod, Lucifer does just that. Her feet now firmly on the floor, Chloe draws a steadying breath. She does up her blouse and wipes her hands on her thighs, ruthlessly suppressing the shivers that run through her from even that bit of indirect contact. Her eyes fall on the papers that are now scattered over a ten-foot radius; she crouches down to gather them up.

“Detective?” Lucifer says uncertainly.

The familiar title has an unfamiliar reaction: her eyes well up, a lump forms in her throat. 

“Are you here to stay?” she asks, continuing to collect the papers with excessive care. 

“No,” Lucifer confesses after a long, quiet moment. 

Chloe nods. Despite her best efforts, one burning tear escapes and runs over her cheek. She keeps her face turned away from him. 

“I thought so,” she says, when she’s ready. Her voice only shakes a little.

“Detective,” Lucifer starts, but Chloe holds up a hand to stop him. 

“You should go back,” she makes herself say. “They need you there.”

Suddenly he’s in front of her. She doesn’t hear or feel a rustle of wind this time, but she swears he flew. Crouched down on the floor, their faces are just inches apart.

“Detective,” he says. His thumb wipes at her eye, catching another tear before it can fall too far. “Chloe. I came to see you, please don’t send me away.”

 _What else can I do?_ Chloe thinks, but the words don’t make it out of her mouth. Instead, she finds herself leaning into his touch, trusting his hand to hold the weight of her too-heavy head. His palm is warm, his long fingers smooth and uncalloused. She presses her lips together, so tightly it almost hurts.

She was wrong this morning, she realizes. It may have been fine — better than fine, even — to have Dan stay in her life after they divorced, but now, face-to-face with Lucifer, she can’t say the same is true. If she can’t have all of him, she’d rather have none. Like quitting smoking, she can’t do it halfway.

“Cold turkey,” she whispers, but she doesn’t make herself pull away like she should. She can’t do it yet. She needs a little more time, just to—

The door to the archive room swings open. Chloe doesn’t see who walks in, but the voice that rings out in the silent space is unmistakable.

“Chloe? Sarge said you were in here, did you find— whoa,” says Ella, stopping dead in her tracks at the end of the aisle. 

Chloe wonders what it looks like, the two of them so close together on the floor, the mess of papers all around them. The drawer she was digging in is still ajar, and another drawer on the opposite cabinet too — no doubt their jostling had knocked it open. 

The tableau only lasts a second before Lucifer clears his throat and gets to his feet. “Miss Lopez,” he says, only a little stiffer than usual.

“Nice try, bud, but you’re not getting out of it,” Ella says. “Come here!”

Chloe hears that short, exasperated exhalation again. She looks up to see Lucifer being pulled reluctantly into a hug — a very tight one, given how his suit wrinkles under Ella’s fingers. His face wrinkles, too, when Ella lets go, and he attempts to smooth out the fabric. Chloe turns away, goes back to gathering the fallen papers as a way of discreetly wiping her eyes.

“I didn’t know you were coming back today,” Ella declares. “When did you get in?”

“Just flew in now, actually,” Lucifer replies. He catches Chloe’s eye and quirks his eyebrows. 

“And lemme guess, your arms are _real_ sore!” Ella jokes, elbowing him.

“Arms? Please,” Lucifer scoffs. “Wings are a bit tired, though.”

Ella laughs, loud and surprised. Lucifer laughs with her. It’s so familiar, like the last few months didn’t happen. It’s perfect. 

It hurts.

Chloe’s eyes are stinging, her throat thick. She hunts down every scrap of paper she can find and crams them haphazardly into the file. Some are upside-down, a couple fold awkwardly when she closes the folder, but she tells herself she doesn’t care.

“You were looking for me, Ella?” she says, getting to her feet. Her voice is close enough to sounding normal that she hopes Ella won’t notice. Lucifer frowns slightly, but Chloe ignores him. 

“Yeah. Lab guys got the results back for that black substance we found on Roberta Sutton’s fingers,” Ella reports. “You called it — it’s ink, but not the kind you’d find in any old Bic. It’s high quality, liquid ink, the kind that artists or calligraphers tend to use.”

“Any evidence that the victim had a calligraphy hobby?” Chloe asks, feeling more settled already. Cases tended to do that.

“Not that we’ve found, but given that it was on her fingers, it seems likely,” Ella replies. She shrugs. “There’s a good chance it’s not related to her death at all. Maybe she just took a class that afternoon or something.”

“Maybe,” Chloe muses. She makes a mental note to ask the people close to the victim if they know anything about why she had ink all over her fingers when she worked at a bar. 

“I know that look,” says Lucifer, which startles Chloe back into the present. She’d half-forgotten he was still in the room. “You have a hunch, Detective?”

Chloe fights off the emotion that bubbles up at his calling her that again. She shoves the file folder back in the still-open drawer, without checking to see if it’s in the right place. She closes the drawer and finally looks up. 

“Maybe,” she says again, in answer to Lucifer’s question. 

“You sticking around long enough to help out, Lucifer?” Ella asks.

Lucifer’s eyes flick uncertainly to Chloe. “If you want me to stay,” he says, with an abundance of caution.

Ella frowns at that, seeming to sense the charged atmosphere. Chloe wishes she could speak freely. She still doesn’t think Lucifer should stay — it’ll only make it harder when he has to go back — but, just like she couldn’t pull away a minute ago, she can’t stop herself from nodding.

Lucifer smiles in relief. “Then I’m here all day,” he says graciously. “As long as you need me.”

 _And what if I need you longer than just today?_ Chloe doesn’t ask. 

Instead, she lets Ella lead them out of the room and tries not to think about what she’s just gotten herself into.


	2. Chapter 2

Chloe survives almost half an hour of every cop in the precinct coming up to her desk to welcome Lucifer back before she excuses herself and practically runs to the ladies’ restroom. 

She’s hyperventilating, and her stomach is twisted into knots. She thinks she might vomit, so she locks herself in a stall and leans against the door. She wants to scream, to hit something. She pulls her fist back, but doesn’t throw the punch. The precinct just renovated this bathroom, and the stall door isn’t dentable metal anymore; it’s thickly coated particle board with solid metal hinges. She’s more likely to injure her hand than make herself feel better. 

Lucifer could punch through it, she thinks suddenly. 

Her heart is racing. She’s dizzy. 

She makes herself breathe. Opens her eyes, reaches out with her hands, listens.

Floor pattern, boots, toilet paper, light fixture, ceiling tile. 

Stall wall, door hinge, blouse, hair.

Rumble of voices in the precinct, hiss of the air conditioning, a pigeon cooing outside the window.

Another breath.

She has to get hold of herself. She asked Lucifer to stay — she _wants_ Lucifer to stay — so she needs to keep it together. 

She opens the stall door and takes the few steps required to get to the sink. She washes her hands out of habit, thinking only about the feel of the soap, its familiar institutional scent, and the sound of the water gurgling down the drain. 

When her hands are clean, she runs her wet fingers through her hair, smoothing out the frizzy bits. She hears her own chastising voice in her head as she finishes drying her hands on her slacks — she would never let Trixie get away with that — but she drums up a smile at her reflection and breathes some more. 

A patrol officer comes in as she’s going out. Henderson, Chloe thinks her name is. They nod at each other, and Chloe heads back to her desk, where Lucifer has clearly made himself at home. 

She scowls at his feet on her paperwork, even as she notices that the red soles of his shoes are not as spotless as usual — their color has dimmed, and there seems to be dust wedged around the edges. When he responds to her glare by moving them, a faint residue of grit remains. He grimaces at it as well, and lifts the page to shake it off. 

“Ugh,” he says. “Bloody ash gets on everything down there, it’s worse than sand on a beach.”

Chloe nods before his words fully sink in. “Wait,” she says, a second later. “That dirt... is from Hell?”

Lucifer raises his eyebrows. “Well, it’s not from Heaven. Dad’s way too much of a control freak to allow that kind of mess.”

“Right,” Chloe says slowly. She looks down, but the Hell dirt has disappeared into the regular dirt on the floor, and she can’t see it anymore. 

“So tell me about your case,” Lucifer says, pulling her out of her daze. “Since I can’t convince you to do anything fun today, i.e. me, we may as well solve a homicide. Punish the guilty and all.”

“Aren’t you,” Chloe starts, then she thinks better of it and closes her mouth.

“Aren’t I what?”

 _Tired of that,_ she was going to say, but she shakes her head. 

“Never mind. Our victim is 27-year-old Roberta Sutton,” she begins, passing him the case file. “Worked at The Corral, a country bar. Coworker found her body in the kitchen storage room late yesterday morning when she came in to open, but Ella puts the time of death between 2 and 8AM.”

“And we all know Ms. Lopez is rarely wrong about things like that,” Lucifer mutters, flicking through the pages. “Who’s this with the terrible fashion sense?”

He holds up a still from an ATM surveillance tape from across the street, showing a man in a Hawaiian shirt using the machine at 1:46AM.

“Don’t know,” Chloe replies. She’d forgotten how satisfying it was to ignore Lucifer’s color commentary. “He was at the bar, though, and one of the last customers to leave before they closed up. The coworker who found the body thinks maybe he was involved with Roberta. I guess he came in a lot when she was working.”

“Stalker, perhaps?” Lucifer suggests. 

“Could be,” says Chloe. “It’s one angle. I’ve got unis canvassing the shops around the bar, see if somebody recognizes him.”

Lucifer hums thoughtfully and turns another page, his dark eyes skimming over every detail. Not for the first time, Chloe wonders how far his celestial abilities go. Can he read, process, react faster than humans? Does he have an eidetic memory? What’s his IQ? She knows he can speak multiple languages — all languages, according to Amenadiel — but did he have to learn them, or was the knowledge just given to him, pre-programmed as a part of the whole angel package?

“You’re staring at me,” Lucifer says, his eyes not leaving the page.

“Sorry,” Chloe says hastily, giving herself a mental shake.

“Don’t be sorry,” Lucifer says. He glances up, a half-smile tilting his mouth. “I like it.”

Chloe ignores the little thrill that runs through her at his words, and scoffs. “You would.”

Lucifer chuckles — a low, familiar sound that both hurts and heals. “Looks like she was shot in the chest?” he asks a moment later.

“Yeah. One shot, dead center,” Chloe confirms. “Pistol was still at the scene, at her feet. Lab’s running it for prints, but no word yet.”

“Witnesses?”

“None.”

“Cameras?”

Chloe shakes her head. “Only three working right now — one on the front door, one on the cash register, and one in the parking lot. The one in the kitchen’s been broken for months, apparently.”

“Well, can’t make it too easy now, can they?” says Lucifer. He snaps the file shut and hands it back. “What’s our first move?”

Chloe almost tells him — she’s slid so smoothly into their old rhythms that it’s hard to break out — but she stops herself. “Why are you here?” she asks again.

“I told you,” Lucifer replies, but he’s shifty. Chloe can sense it. “I came to see you.”

“Just me?” Chloe narrows her eyes. “Not your brother, or Linda, or Charlie? Not even Maze?”

“Maze is doing just fine without me,” Lucifer says. “And I don’t need to see the little one to know how he is. Crying and covered in spit-up, no doubt.”

Chloe can’t help but notice he doesn’t say a word about the other two people she listed. She crosses her arms over her chest and takes a chance. “You know, sometimes I get why people call you the Prince of Lies.”

He’s instantly offended, as she knew he would be. If she were anyone else, she might be privy to a flash of his red eyes. Maybe he’d even throw her up against a wall— and, oh no, that backfired.

She pushes away her accidentally sexy thoughts and presses on. “But I know better. You’re the King of Omission.”

He huffs, probably still offended, but doesn’t comment. Chloe doesn’t press the issue either, instead gesturing with the case file towards the door. 

“I’m heading back to the crime scene,” she says. “You coming?”

“Unfortunately not,” says Lucifer. Chloe only has a second to be confused before he smirks and adds, “But I’ll accompany you to the crime scene.”

He strides past her while she’s still processing that, and she has to admit that he may have won that round.

* * *

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Dan says as Chloe and Lucifer approach. “Finally come to your senses, or what?”

Since Lucifer left, and because Chloe couldn’t explain where he went, Dan has built his own narrative — namely, that things got real between Lucifer and Chloe, and Lucifer fled because he was afraid of commitment. As theories go, it’s solid, backed by plausible evidence, but obviously tainted by Dan’s bias. Dan is fully, completely on her side for once, which she appreciates — though she can’t help thinking that it’s more than a few years too late.

Still, she doesn’t want to see him come to blows with Lucifer, and not just because Lucifer is a powerful, ancient being from another dimension — she also just doesn’t need this much testosterone interrupting her day. She steps forward, edging between him and Lucifer, and shoots Dan a quelling look.

Dan rolls his eyes, but he backs down. Lucifer, to Chloe’s surprise, stays silent. 

“Any new developments?” Chloe asks Dan. 

Dan nods. “Yeah, we talked to the owner, and it turns out Roberta wasn’t supposed to be working alone the other night. They have a policy that no one closes solo.”

“Of course. Lux has the same rule,” says Lucifer. 

Dan ignores him and gestures towards a small cluster of people. “So, we called the staff in. The girl who was supposed to be closing with Roberta, Lillian, is over there. I thought you’d want to talk to her, Chlo.” 

Chloe thanks him and heads over. Lucifer, as ever, follows — a solid presence at her back that she’s definitely missed, working without a partner. She allows herself a few seconds to worry about what’s going to happen when he goes away again, whenever that may be; she makes a mental note to stock up on ice cream, because it probably won’t be pretty. 

Lillian is wearing long sleeves despite the heat, a tight black sweater that’s cropped to expose her tanned midriff above low-slung jeans. She responds as favorably to Lucifer as any female witness (or suspect, or colleague, or stranger) does. He doesn’t even have to put the whammy on her before she’s talking. 

“My husband works days, and I work nights, it’s how we make it work,” she says, her voice quivering. “But our four-year-old, Gordie, had an ear ache, and he wouldn’t sleep. Roberta told me she could handle closing if I went home. I’ve never left early before, and if I’d known something would happen, I never would’ve, but I swear, I swear to God I didn’t know.”

“There, there,” Lucifer says. “No need to get Him involved any more than He already is.”

Lillian blinks in confusion, so Chloe steps in before they can get derailed by the topic of Lucifer’s Father. “What time did you leave?” she asks.

“Pretty much as soon as we locked the doors,” Lillian answers. “So, right at 2.”

“And how long do you usually stay when you’re closing?”

“Depends on the night,” Lillian says. She sniffs, dabs at her heavy eyeliner before continuing. “Usually 3 or 3:30. Sometimes we’re here till 4, doing the cleaning and all.”

“So if Roberta was on her own, she’d probably be here pretty late,” Chloe concludes. 

“Especially Roberta,” Lillian agrees. One tear slips down her cheek, not disturbing her eyeliner in the least. “She was such a perfectionist, she always wanted this place spotless before she left.”

Chloe nods. She glances through the window at the bar; despite the cops and forensic team milling around, it looks pretty neat, which makes her think that Roberta made it through most of her closing rituals before her death. 

“Did you notice anything suspicious before you took off?” Chloe asks. “Anybody hanging around outside, a strange vehicle, anything like that?”

Lillian shakes her head. “No, but I was also pretty focused on getting out of there, you know, so I wasn’t really paying attention. I had to get home for Gordie.”

“Of course,” says Lucifer. “Spawn do tend to take precedence, don’t they?” Chloe elbows him, and he adds, “Adorable spawn, of course. How is the little monster?”

“Better,” says Lillian with a weak smile. “We got him some antibiotics. Cost a fortune, but that’s just how it is with kids, you know? You have any?”

 _“Dad,_ no,” Lucifer replies, with a slight shudder. “But the Detective has one. Drives up the grocery bill, but no one seems to hold that against her.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, but the familiar complaint reminds her that she hasn’t yet had a chance to explore the robbery angle, to see if any money was missing.

“Is there anything else?” Lillian asks, fidgeting with her earring. “I should get home.”

“Just one more question,” says Chloe, pulling out the photo of the man in the Hawaiian shirt. “Do you recognize this man?”

“Yeah,” Lillian replies at once. “That’s Tim, Roberta’s husband. He comes in a lot, waits around if she’s closing, so he can drive her home.”

Chloe knows for a fact that this is not Roberta’s husband, as her actual husband has already been to the station. But she doesn’t let on. “Do you ever talk to him?”

Lillian glances at Lucifer, then shrugs, very casually. “Once or twice. Seems like a nice guy. A little controlling, maybe, but his wife works until 3 in the morning, I don’t blame him if he wants to make sure she gets home safe.” She pauses, her eyes glitter again with tears. “God, he’s probably devastated. I should talk to Luke, maybe we could pool our tips and send some flowers or something.”

Chloe hums, non-committal, and tells Lillian she’s free to go. Lucifer watches her walk away, but not in the usual way; his eyes don’t once dip to the compact, denim-wrapped posterior that even Chloe notices. 

“I believe you said something about omission?” he comments idly.

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees. “But the surveillance footage of the front door backs up that she left early. We’ll check with her husband, make sure her alibi’s confirmed.”

“How fun,” Lucifer replies, his tone making it clear he means the opposite. It evokes a surprisingly sharp annoyance in Chloe.

“You know, nothing’s keeping you here,” she points out. “You can leave any time.”

“But—” 

“I know, I know, you _came to see me,_ but I’m at work, the way I am every Wednesday,” Chloe overrides him. “So, you can help me out, or you can come back on the weekend when I’m actually free.”

It’s a weak argument — she often gets called in on weekends — and he knows it, given the look on his face. 

“Ugh, never mind,” she says before he can call her out on it. She sighs. “Let’s talk to the owner, rule out that this was a robbery. Maybe he knows something about our Hawaiian shirt not-husband husband, too.”

“Tim,” Lucifer supplies. “Sounds terribly pedestrian. Why on earth our poor victim would pretend to be married to that man is beyond me.”

“A lot of things are beyond you,” Chloe mutters, but he doesn’t seem to hear.

“I mean, does she _want_ people to think she has no taste?” 

Chloe ignores the question and heads inside to speak with the owner, Luke, who confirms that no money was taken. He also thinks that this mysterious Tim is Roberta’s husband, however, and he’s a lot more blunt about him than Lillian was.

“Guy’s an asshole,” he declares. “Comes in here, gets one drink and spends the whole night sitting in the corner, watching his wife like some kinda creep. So many women have complained about him — staff, customers, you name it. If I could get away with banning him, I would, but Roberta’s crazy about him for some reason, so I never did. Should have, though. Should’ve known something like this would happen eventually.”

“Crazy about him,” Lucifer repeats, after Luke has walked away. “Well, I suppose the heart wants what it wants.”

“Must’ve wanted it pretty bad to cheat on her husband,” Chloe agrees. 

“Perhaps the husband found out about Tim, decided to confront her?” Lucifer suggests. “You humans are awfully possessive when it comes to things like this.”

“Not a bad motive,” Chloe agrees, “but I spoke to him yesterday, and I don’t know. I don’t have any proof that he’s innocent, but my gut says he’s not our guy.”

“Well, today you have a partner who can help you verify that instinct,” Lucifer says. “Shall we bring the hubby down to the station?”

Chloe nods, but as they head back to the car, she replays Lucifer’s words in her head and realizes that this is the second or third time he’s specifically said the word _today_ in regard to his presence here. There’s something about that that feels off, something that he’s not saying, but something that she can almost read between the lines.

“Lucifer,” she says, stopping with her hand on the car door handle.

He looks up expectantly, meets her eyes over the roof of the car. “Yes?” he prompts, when she doesn’t speak right away. 

Another second of the wheels turning, and she has it. “You only have twenty-four hours on Earth, don’t you?” 

His face falls. He exhales softly. He nods. “Yes,” he says again.

“Why?” The syllable comes out louder, harsher than she meant it to, but Lucifer doesn’t flinch.

He gives a vague shrug. “Rules?” he offers. 

Chloe stares. It takes her a few seconds — almost half a minute — to understand that what she’s feeling is anger. 

“Since when—” She has to stop to swallow, because her throat is closing up around the words. “Since when do you — _you,_ of all people — give a _fuck_ about rules?”

Lucifer hesitates, glancing around them. Some of the uniformed officers have turned their heads, and Dan is stepping away from the person he was talking to. He’s coming their way. Chloe is shaking.

“Perhaps we should continue this discussion in private,” Lucifer says in a low voice, which is strange, and also infuriating — he’s never cared about anyone overhearing any of his crazy, celestial bullshit before.

“No,” she says. “No, I—”

He’s beside her. He must have crossed in front of the car when she wasn’t looking — or hell, maybe he flew again. Because God— _someone_ knows he can do whatever the fuck— go wherever— 

“Let me drive you home, Detective,” he says. 

“No,” Chloe says again, louder, sharper. She jerks back when tries to take her hand off the door handle.

“Don’t touch her,” Dan yells from somewhere to her right.

All Chloe can see is Lucifer, so close she can count the points of stubble around his mouth. She looks up into his eyes and her fury drains away as quickly as it came, leaving nothing but a gaping hole of hurt in the middle of her chest. 

“Were you even gonna tell me?” she asks. Her voice breaks.

“Chloe—” 

“You weren’t, were you?” She pushes back the tears that want to fall. “You were just gonna let me go about my day, and— and what, disappear again? Give me three minutes to say my goodbyes, then poof, back to Hell?”

“It’s complicated—”

“Get away from her,” Dan growls before Lucifer can say more. He interposes himself between them. “Back. The fuck. Up, Morningstar.”

When Lucifer doesn’t move, Dan shoves him, and he takes a step back. It reminds Chloe of a mother tiger pretending to be scared by her cub; he’s indulging Dan by moving — by letting himself be moved.

“Dan,” Chloe begins, while, behind him, Lucifer makes a show of dusting himself off. 

“Are you all right?” Dan asks her in a low, furious voice.

“I’m fine,” Chloe tells him, even though she knows he won’t believe her.

Dan throws a glare at Lucifer over his shoulder, then turns back to Chloe and takes her hands in his. “I told you a hundred times, Chlo, he’s not worth it,” he hisses. “Why are you doing this to yourself? Just tell him to fuck off outta your life, since he clearly can’t make you happy.”

“Dan,” Chloe tries again. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s _not,_ Chloe, it’s—”

“You don’t have to protect me,” she reminds him. It stops his tirade in its tracks, as she knew it would — they’ve only been arguing about it since the day they met. “Okay?” she adds softly, after he’s taken a breath.

He shakes his head. His jaw is clenched, but he’s going to back down, she knows it. “I still think you’re making a mistake if you take him back.”

“I know you do,” Chloe replies. “But it’s not your decision.”

That does it. Dan closes his eyes for a brief moment, then reopens them. “If he hurts you again...”

He leaves the threat unfinished, but it doesn’t matter. “I know,” Chloe says. “Thank you.”

They stand in silence a moment longer, until Dan lets go of her hands and moves back.

“Detective?” Lucifer calls tentatively from behind Dan. 

Chloe glances up into Dan’s eyes, then at the Devil over his shoulder.

Lucifer looks as heartbroken as he did the night he left. A tiny, bitter part of her is savagely glad to see him hurting, but most of her just feels broken. 

“Just go,” she says.

“But Detective—”

“Please. Lucifer. Go.”

His sad brown eyes assess her for one more moment, and then he nods. “All right. I’ll be around if you need— well. Never mind.”

He turns away and walks slowly towards an alley. The second he’s out of sight, Chloe hears a faint whoosh of movement, and she knows that he’s gone. 

Again.

She barely makes it inside the car before the tears come. 


	3. Chapter 3

Even though it’s her case, Chloe lets Dan take the lead. He doesn’t ask any questions when she returns from the car ten minutes later with her sunglasses on, and doesn’t offer to get in any more fights on her behalf, which she appreciates. 

Back at the station, they interview the victim’s husband, Laurence, and discover that he was blissfully ignorant of his wife’s affair. Chloe is half-tempted to loan him her sunglasses after they tell him, since he seems to need them almost as much as she does, but through his tears, he reveals another interesting fact. 

“Roberta loved to draw,” he says. “She’s the most creative— _was_ the most creative person I’ve ever met. She has this gothic style, it’s really something. I’ve been trying for ages to get her to start selling her prints, and she was finally starting to listen. She booked a table at an artisan’s market tonight, she was— she was gonna—”

He breaks down again, and Chloe reaches across the cold table to pat his arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says. It comes out a bit more mechanical than usual, but Laurence seems to appreciate it all the same.

“This market she was gonna go to,” Dan prompts. “Where is it?”

Laurence gives them the address and tells them it starts at 4. Chloe glances at her watch and is startled to discover that it’s not even noon yet; the day has already felt unbearably long. 

Since Linda explained that time moves slower in Hell than it does on Earth, Chloe has developed a habit of thinking about that every time she has a deadline. So, her first instinct, when she sees that there’s a little over four hours until the art market opens, is to wonder how long that would be for Lucifer down Below. 

But she has to stop herself a second later, because it doesn’t matter today. Four hours for her is four hours for Lucifer right now; they’re in the same time zone, so to speak. Which leads her to another question: how long is twenty-four Earth hours in Hell? Is it the equivalent of a week? A month? A year? How much of his reign did he give up for this random Wednesday with her, to come and see her? And how much more Hell would he endure, if he went back early?

Oh, God— someone. What has she done? 

“I have to go,” she announces, cutting off Dan mid-question. She gets to her feet at once, and she’s out the door before he can respond. She’s not sure at first where she’s going, but a plan is crystallizing — she at least knows where to start.

“Chloe,” Ella calls. “I was just coming to tell you— hey, wait up!”

Chloe reluctantly slows her pace and lets Ella catch up. 

“I wanted to tell you, we got— whoa, are you okay?” 

Chloe shoves her glasses back up. “I’m fine. What did you want to tell me?”

“We got the lab report back on the gun,” Ella says. She’s still watching Chloe with sympathetic eyes, but Chloe fights through the urge to open up to her.

“Any useable fingerprints?” she asks, business-like.

“No,” Ella responds, “but there was something on the trigger: ink.”

“Ink,” Chloe repeats, distracted out of her thoughts. “Like the ink on Roberta’s fingers.”

“Exactly,” Ella confirms. “It’s a perfect match.”

Chloe’s mind races over the details of the case — it’s a relief, frankly, to focus on something so rational, so human. “There was no evidence of anyone else at the scene,” she says slowly. “And the ink on the trigger matches the ink on the victim’s hands. Is it possible we’re dealing with a suicide?”

Ella shrugs. “That was my first thought, too. The point-blank range, the angle of impact, the location of the weapon — it all tracks with someone shooting themself in the chest.”

Something niggles at the back of Chloe’s mind, some clue that she can’t quite pin down. “Okay,” she says. “Thanks.”

“Any time— wait, where are you going?” Ella asks, when Chloe starts walking towards the door again.

Chloe gestures to the clock behind her on the wall. “Lunch,” she explains. It’s as good a reason as any, though it’s clear that Ella doesn’t buy it. Still, she doesn’t protest when Chloe turns away. 

_Amenadiel,_ she thinks as she strides towards the parking lot. _I need your help._

* * *

The faint sound of a baby crying reaches Chloe as soon as she steps out of the car. One of the bedroom windows is open, she notices, and given the time of day, it’s likely that Linda and Amenadiel are trying to put Charlie down for a nap. 

Chloe hesitates in the driveway, feeling a surge of guilt — she has no right to barge in on Amenadiel and his family, just because she’s upset about the unholy mystery that is his brother. He may still be an angel, but Amenadiel is very human, too, and he’s made it clear that his home is here now, on Earth. He may not even be as up-to-speed on otherworldly matters as Lucifer is; there may be no point in talking to him about this.

She’s seriously considering getting back in the car and taking off, but before she can make a move, the front door opens, and Amenadiel is there, smiling at her like she’s the sun on a warm spring day. 

“Chloe,” he says. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“You—” Chloe frowns in confusion. “You have?”

“Well, you said you needed my help,” he explains. “I was going to come to the station once Charlie went down, but as ever he’s proving to be quite stubborn about it.”

A particularly loud wail filters out from the window; Charlie is desperate to prove his father’s point. 

“Trixie was exactly the same. She didn’t want to miss any of the action,” Chloe says, the way she would to any new parent, as if Amenadiel hadn’t just revealed that he had somehow heard her thoughts. 

“Why don’t you come inside?” Amenadiel suggests. “We’ll have lunch.”

“I don’t want to impose,” Chloe starts, but Amenadiel waves his hand. 

“Nonsense,” he says. “Come on in. Linda will be glad to see you.”

Chloe remembers what it was like when Trixie was a few months old, how stressed she felt all the time, and how badly she wanted to talk to someone other than her husband, about something other than their baby. 

“Okay,” she says at last. She locks the car and heads up to the porch. Amenadiel beams at her as he steps aside to let her in. 

_Can you read my mind?_ she thinks, as clearly as she can, but Amenadiel’s expression doesn’t change.

He leaves her in the kitchen nook with three mugs and three teabags, and the kettle heating on the stove. She doesn’t really want tea, but the sound of the water starting to bubble gives her something to focus on, a way of drowning out her painful, confused thoughts. When it whistles a few minutes later, she centers her attention on filling the mugs, watching the steam rise and the teabags bob in the water. 

She carries them one by one to the coffee table. Down the hall, Charlie’s cries are quieting, blanketed by the low, melodic hum of Linda and Amenadiel’s lullaby. Chloe perches on the edge of a chair, staring at the kitchen island without really seeing it, thinking of nothing. 

Linda enters her line of sight after what feels like a long time. Chloe smiles and gets to her feet as Linda approaches, a quiet but enthusiastic exclamation on her lips. 

“So good to see you, Chloe,” she says, wrapping her up in a hug. “How have you been?”

“I’m good,” Chloe answers. Amenadiel politely looks away at the mistruth. “How’s things with you?”

“Oh, you know. Angel baby who doesn’t want to nap,” Linda says. “Business as usual these days.”

Chloe chuckles. “I made tea,” she says, gesturing at the mugs on the table. “Or, well. Amenadiel suggested that I make tea, so—”

“A wonderful suggestion,” Linda says. She looks at Amenadiel, and her eyes are so full of affection that Chloe has to swallow hard. She’s happy for Linda, she really is, but a part of her will always hurt at the sight of what she can’t have. 

“Let’s sit,” says Amenadiel, “and Chloe can tell me what she needs my help with.”

She can’t hold back the question any longer. “Okay, seriously, _can_ you read minds?”

Amenadiel chuckles as he lowers himself onto the end of the sectional sofa, opposite her. “No,” he says. “But I can hear prayers. Especially when they’re directed right at me.”

“Prayer?” Chloe mumbles. She hadn’t thought of it in those terms — it had been an idle notion, an instinct that she has sometimes, to talk in her head to the people she needs to see. 

“I suppose that’s what I was doing,” she concludes at last. She sits down again, and Linda settles on the sofa between them. “Weird to think you heard me.”

“Well, there’s a chance I might listen extra hard for people I know personally,” Amenadiel says, with something like a sly grin. “I know, I’m not supposed to play favorites, but....”

“It comes in very handy,” Linda puts in.

Chloe laughs, partly in surprise and partly in relief. It’s oddly comforting, to think she has an angel on speed-dial. 

“But wait,” she says after a moment. “Does that mean... Can any angel—?”

Amenadiel’s expression changes into something kinder, gentler. Almost pitying. He knows why she’s asking. 

“Technically, yes,” he answers, “but Lucifer stopped listening to prayers a long time ago. He said it disgusted him, what people would pray to the Devil about.”

Chloe has a flashback to the look on Lucifer’s face when she took him to the scene of those Satanic murders a few years ago — the ones that Malcolm had actually committed out of some wild quest to seek Lucifer’s approval. She shudders. 

“I can only imagine,” she says. “Not that I want to.”

Linda nods sympathetically. Amenadiel blows on his tea before he sips it, just as anyone would. They’re waiting for her to explain herself, Chloe knows, but now, even face-to-face with an angel who might have the answer to her problems, she finds she can’t speak. 

“I take it that’s why you’re here? You want to talk about my brother?” Amenadiel says finally, setting his tea back down with a soft thud. 

Everything about him is soft, Chloe thinks, but Lucifer has told her that he is the strongest, the oldest of the angels, a soldier in their Father’s army. It’s a mind-boggling thought, to imagine angels arranged, rank and file, ready to go to war at any moment, the way they had when Lucifer rebelled against—

“Chloe?” Linda prompts. 

“Lucifer came back,” she says, forcing the words out in a rush.

“He’s back?” Linda asks. “Where is he?”

“He’s—” Chloe swallows around the lump that’s in her throat. “I sent him away. He’s gone again.”

Amenadiel’s eyes shoot over her shoulder, and he frowns. “Lucifer... left again?”

Chloe nods. Linda reaches across the coffee table and squeezes her hand. “What happened?”

Little by little, Chloe tells them the story. How Lucifer appeared out of nowhere, how she figured out his 24-hour curfew, or deadline, or whatever it is, and how she told him to go. She’s ashamed of that last part, but Linda objects at once, refusing to let her put herself down. 

“You were just trying not to get hurt again,” she argues. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Chloe.”

“But he’s gone,” Chloe says, choking on the guilt. “I told him— and he just— he’s _gone.”_

Amenadiel, who’s been silent for some time, clears his throat. “That’s not,” he says, but then he stops. 

Chloe looks up when he doesn’t finish his thought. Amenadiel’s gaze is fixed over her shoulder again, and she’s tempted to turn around to see what the hell has his attention. Before she can, however, he looks down. He places his warm hand over Linda’s, which is still holding Chloe’s tightly. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he says, too heartily. Chloe doesn’t buy it for a second.

“Do you know anything about this?” she asks him outright. 

“This?” Amenadiel repeats.

Chloe takes her hand out from under theirs and gestures, trying to convey all the craziness she can in one motion. “Has something like this ever happened before? When he left Hell in the past, was there ever a time limit?”

Amenadiel shakes his head. “No. He’d just be gone as long as he possibly could— until I dragged him back.” He pauses. “It’s true,” he adds, out of nowhere.

“Then why would he come here, just for one day?” Chloe asks. “And what kind of rules would he be following to do that?”

Amenadiel hesitates, pursing his lips. “It’s possible,” he says slowly, “that Luci made a deal.”

Chloe doesn’t know how to react to that. “A deal,” she repeats numbly. “What? How? Who?”

“Three excellent questions,” Linda comments. She, too, is staring at Amenadiel in confusion. “Who would he make a deal with, and why?”

Amenadiel’s eyes dart up, once more over Chloe’s shoulder, and then he exhales a short, irritated sigh. “Why does it always fall to me to clean up my brother’s messes?” he mutters. 

“Well, you _are_ the responsible one,” Linda reminds him. 

Amenadiel’s mouth twists unhappily. “Apparently,” he says. “Look, Chloe, I don’t know what kind of deal my brother might have made, but I can guess at with whom.”

Chloe waits, raises her eyebrows when Amenadiel stares into the distance and doesn’t elaborate. “Who?” she asks finally.

“Oh,” says Amenadiel, coming back to her abruptly. “Sorry, yes. With Father, of course.”

“With Fath— oh,” Chloe echoes. She blinks several times, processing this. “He can— you can do that?”

Amenadiel seems to hesitate again, struggling to find the right words. After a moment, he shrugs his shoulders slightly and says, “Lucifer can. He’s done it before.”

“He—” Chloe doesn’t have the means to express how floored she is by this news. “I thought that he and your Dad weren’t, you know, on speaking terms.”

“Oh, they’re not,” Amenadiel assures her. “For all intents and purposes, they hate each other. But back when Malcolm killed him, Luci reached out, and Dad—”

“Wait,” Chloe stops him. “Slow down. Malcolm killed him? Like, _killed_ him, killed him?”

Amenadiel sighs again. He’s glaring at something behind her. “I’m supposed to lie for you now?” he says, exasperated.

Chloe whirls around before she can stop herself, but there’s nothing there.

“Amenadiel,” Linda says, worried but also warning. “Who are you talking to?” 

Amenadiel doesn’t get a chance to answer before Chloe puts it together. “He’s here, isn’t he.”

“What?” Linda squeaks. She cranes her neck, to see past Chloe. “Lucifer? Why can’t I see him?”

Chloe blows out a breath. “Because angels can turn invisible, right?” When Amenadiel doesn’t answer, she throws her hands in the air. “Of course you can, why not! Next you’re gonna tell me that Ella’s ghost friend is really your long-lost cousin or something.”

“Sister, actually,” says Lucifer’s voice from behind her. 

Chloe is not going to jump to her feet. She will not run across the room and fling herself into his arms. She will not ask him to forgive her for sending him away, and she most certainly will _not_ burst into tears. 

Instead, she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. In, and out. When she reopens her eyes, Amenadiel is looking embarrassed and apologetic, while Linda is hiding a smile behind her hand. Slowly, Chloe stands and turns around. 

Lucifer is exactly as he was when he left the crime scene. His shoes are still a bit dusty, the pocket square in his suit jacket is still that faded shade of violet. He half-smiles at her. 

“I told you I’d be around, Detective,” he offers weakly. “If you needed me.”

“For today,” Chloe corrects him.

His expression sags a bit. “For today,” he repeats. He looks around Chloe at Linda and Amenadiel. “Doctor,” he says. “Good to see you.”

“And you, Lucifer,” Linda replies politely. 

“Brother,” Lucifer says, a little less warmly. “For the record, I wasn’t asking you to lie.”

“Of course you weren’t,” Amenadiel says sarcastically. 

He starts to say more, but Chloe’s phone rings in her pocket. She turns and walks away from Lucifer to take it in the far corner of the kitchen, ignoring the brothers’ argument as best she can. 

“Hey Chloe, everything all right?” Dan asks when she picks up. “You left in a hurry there.”

“Yeah, sorry, I had to— never mind,” Chloe says, deciding that it’s too hard to explain. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to let you know that Laurence, our victim’s husband, identified the murder weapon, and a few other things we found at the scene.”

“Okay,” Chloe replies. The request for more information is implied, and Dan hears it loud and clear. 

“The spiral bound book that was in the storage closet, it’s Roberta’s,” Dan reports. “Laurence recognized the cover and the contents. I guess she never left home without a sketchbook of some kind.” 

“And the gun?”

“Also hers,” says Dan. There’s something final about his tone, and after a second Chloe catches his drift. 

“Her gun, her ink on the trigger, no clear fingerprints,” Chloe summarizes. “This is looking more and more like a suicide.”

Dan sighs. “Yeah,” he says.

There’s a pause. At the other end of the room, Lucifer and Amenadiel’s argument has been reduced to whispers, probably at Linda’s request, but it sounds no less intense.

“Anything Laurence can tell us about his wife’s mental state?” Chloe asks.

“Not really,” Dan admits. “According to him, things were fine, but...”

“But he also had no idea his wife was cheating on him,” Chloe concludes. “He could very well have missed the signs that she was depressed.”

“Exactly,” Dan agrees. “And, Chloe, I went through the sketchbook, now that Forensics is done with it, and... yikes.”

Chloe, who was expecting something more detailed, raises her eyebrows. “Yikes?”

“Yeah,” says Dan. “I’m not an art expert, and I’m not a doctor, or a shrink, or what have you, but there’s a definite shift in her style. The book was pretty much full, and at the beginning it’s all chipper and happy, almost like a cartoon. But by the time you get to the half-finished piece at the end, it’s less like a cartoon and more like the cover of a break-up album.”

Chloe sighs. Every once in a while, it hits home that she deals with the end of someone’s life every single day. Thinking of a half-finished art piece, something that the artist will never complete, is one of these moments, and it demands to be observed. For a few seconds, she lets herself feel the sadness, the tragedy of this young, talented woman who’ll never draw again. 

Dan doesn’t speak for a moment either; she has a feeling he’s doing the same thing. 

“Okay,” she says finally, in a low voice. The argument on the other side of the room, she notices vaguely, has stopped. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. We still need to talk to her boyfriend, Tim. Any luck tracking him down?”

“Actually, yes,” Dan replies. “We got his address, unis talked to his neighbors. Turns out he works afternoons at a warehouse close to the bar. His shift starts at 3, I was actually gonna head to his apartment soon and try to catch him en route before I head to the artisan’s market.”

The clock in Linda’s kitchen tells her that her lunch hour is almost entirely gone; they have a little over two hours until Tim goes to work. 

“What’s the address?” she asks. “I’m at Linda’s, it might be closer than you coming all the way from the station.”

“You’re at—” Dan says. Chloe hears him exhale through his nose. “That’s where you ran off to? To talk to Lucifer’s brother?”

“Yes,” Chloe answers, just as said brother walks towards the sink with their mugs.

“Chloe—”

“Don’t start,” Chloe tells Dan. “Okay? Just... give me the address. Please?”

Dan doesn’t sound happy about it, but he tells her, and the address is in fact not that far from her. She tells Dan that she’ll interview Tim — careful to say _I_ and not _we,_ because she does not want to get into that argument again — and she hangs up. 

“Everything okay?” Amenadiel asks. 

Chloe can’t help it — she huffs out a joyless laugh and shakes her head. “Sure,” she says. “Everything’s dandy.”

“Chloe,” Amenadiel says in a low voice, stopping her when she makes to turn away. “The exact nature of this deal my brother made...” He pauses, exhales. “He can’t tell you.”

Chloe frowns. “Can’t, or won’t?”

“Can’t,” Amenadiel replies. “I shouldn’t be saying anything either.”

“Why not?” Chloe has to ask. 

Amenadiel hesitates, then looks pointedly at the ceiling. It only takes a second for Chloe to catch on to what he’s telling her, but it takes significantly longer for her to process the flurry of emotions — awe, confusion, denial, anger — that hits once she does. 

“Oh,” she says at last. It seems incredibly inadequate.

“Yeah,” says Amenadiel. Also inadequate, but somehow he seems more sure-footed than she is. 

Chloe takes comfort in that. “You know, sometimes I think about what my life was like before I met you all, and I wonder: was it better, or just more boring?”

It’s meant to be a joke, but Amenadiel doesn’t laugh. His small smile fades quickly. “Be careful, saying things like that,” he cautions.

“What do you mean?” Chloe asks, suddenly chilled.

Amenadiel shakes his head. “That’s all I can say. Be careful, Chloe.”

She nods, still confused and worried, but follows him back towards the sofa. Lucifer has taken her seat, and he and Linda have their heads bent close together. It’s clear that they’re discussing something serious. Then Linda sees her approaching and stands up. She crosses the room to join Amenadiel and give them some privacy. 

Lucifer jumps up too and offers her a broad grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “So,” he says. “Do we have a lead?”

“We?” Chloe repeats. “You mean you’re back on the case?”

“If you’ll have me,” he replies, as cautious and hopeful as he was earlier when they were in the archives.

He’s giving her another chance to send him away, she realizes. She thinks of all the other things he could be doing with his day pass from Hell: sex, drugs, you name it — all the things that he no doubt did whenever he could get away before. But, for some reason, he’s stayed by her side today, and apart from what nearly happened when he first arrived this morning, he’s stayed largely focused on the case. He’s followed her lead on everything. She has a feeling that even if she tells him no, he’s not going anywhere. 

The thought occurs to her that maybe he can’t — maybe someone with much, _much_ more power than Chloe Jane Decker has essentially trapped him here today. But _she_ could still refuse him, still walk away. And if she were stronger, maybe that’s what she’d do.

But she’s never been strong when it comes to him. Not as strong as she should be; somehow, he always seems to wriggle around her defenses. 

“Okay,” she says finally. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but that’s not really anything new, is it? You wanna work the case, let’s work the case.”

Lucifer’s smile lights up his face, and behind her, Chloe hears what sounds like two small sighs of relief. “Lovely,” he says. He nods at the others. “Brother, Doctor. Thank you, I hope to see you again soon.”

“Me too, Lucifer,” says Linda, but Amenadiel, when Chloe looks, still seems worried.

They’re almost through the door when Chloe remembers. “Oh,” she says, turning around to catch Linda. “Sorry we didn’t get to have lunch. Rain check, later this week?”

Linda’s eyes dance over Chloe’s shoulder. “Sure. If you’re free.”

Chloe doesn’t know what she’s implying, but she’s distracted from answering a few seconds later when Lucifer unlocks her car and revs the engine. Chloe pats her pockets in alarm, but the keys are right where she left them.

“How—?” she begins.

“Some things never change,” Amenadiel says, with a fond, long-suffering look. “Goodbye, Chloe,” he adds. He places a hand on her shoulder and squeezes, the closest he comes to showing physical affection with her, and turns away. 

Linda then wraps Chloe up in a hug that’s a little too tight. “They’re bound by Heaven not to say anything,” she whispers in Chloe’s ear. “So you just have to ask somebody who’s _not.”_

“Not what?” Chloe starts to say, and then she figures it out: not of Heaven. “Maze?” she breathes, and Linda pulls away.

She nods eagerly. Chloe nods back. “Thanks,” she says. Then, catching sight of Amenadiel heading down the hall to where Charlie has just started crying, she adds, “For the tea.”

“Any time,” says Linda, her eyes sparkling. “Good luck.”

Chloe heads to the car feeling more hopeful than she has all day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, just a heads-up that now's about the time you ought to start minding those tags up there.

Chloe’s stomach growls a few minutes after they leave, prompting Lucifer to look away from the road. Normally she wouldn’t let him drive, but between his puppy eyes about the lack of cars in Hell, and Chloe wanting to text Maze about this whole bound-by-Heaven situation, she caved. 

Also, despite the keys in her pocket, she has a feeling that the car won’t start for her anymore. Not today, at least.

“Hungry, love?” Lucifer asks idly.

Chloe hits _Send_ and sets her phone down in her lap. “Yeah. I spent my entire lunch hour talking about you instead of eating.”

Lucifer’s mouth twists in apology. “I assure you, that was not my intention, Detective.”

“Yeah, well, road to Hell and all,” Chloe says, unthinking. 

Lucifer laughs. “You’ve no idea.”

He somehow coaxes more speed from the engine, changes lanes — without looking, of course — and weaves around cars that are probably going the speed limit, but seem to them like they’re standing still. He moves through traffic like a duck through water, and finally glides into an exit lane peppered with signs advertising plenty of fast food options. Chloe closes her eyes as they speed down the off-ramp, reminding herself over and over that this is why she doesn’t let him drive. 

_Just for one day,_ she thinks. _Just one—_

“Are you all right?” Lucifer asks. 

“Please keep your eyes on the road,” Chloe answers without opening hers. “Some of us aren’t immortal, remember?”

“Please,” Lucifer scoffs. “I’m barely more immortal than you are when you’re around, Detective, you know that.”

Chloe chances a look, sees they’re heading way too fast towards a line of bright red brake lights. “Then you really shouldn’t try to get us killed,” Chloe says quickly, bracing for impact.

But when the car comes to a gentle stop, Chloe opens her eyes. They’re a little closer, maybe, than the recommended two car lengths behind the vehicle in front of them, but otherwise fine. She looks to her left to see Lucifer’s smug grin turned in her direction. She doesn’t comment, just shakes her head. 

“So that’s still happening, is it?” she asks after the light turns green.

“What— oh, you mean my DIDV? I presume so.”

“DIDV?” Chloe repeats. “What the hell is that?”

“Detective-Induced Devil Vulnerability,” Lucifer answers primly. He turns into a parking lot — again, without looking. “You see, Hell gets rather boring after a few years. With nothing to do, I started coming up with acronyms for all kinds of things, like GIGO, for a quickie, you know, Get In, Get Off? Or—”

“I don’t—” Chloe cuts him off. “I don’t need to hear any more, thank you.”

“All right, suit yourself,” says Lucifer easily. He finds an empty parking spot and drives in, shutting the engine off — again, with no key — before Chloe catches up to what he just said. 

“Wait, years?” she asks. “You were— Lucifer, you’ve only been gone— it hasn’t even been four months.”

Lucifer sighs and turns in the driver’s seat. “To you,” he says, surprisingly kind.

Chloe blinks. “Was it,” she begins, but she loses courage halfway through.

“Was it what?” Lucifer prompts. “It’s all right, you can ask. I’ve told you before, I don’t mind if you have questions.”

“Was it bad?” Chloe asks, and she winces. “I’m sorry, that’s a— a stupid question. Of course it was bad, it was Hell.”

“No,” Lucifer answers, “it’s not a stupid question. To be honest, it wasn’t as bad as I remember. The demon rebellions kept me busy for some time, and after I put my foot down, it was... quiet. Quite dull, really, and I mean that both metaphorically and literally. I had no idea how much I’d taken the California sun for granted.”

Without intending to, Chloe finds herself staring at Lucifer’s violet pocket square again — she’d assumed it was new, replacing the red one that had been there the night he left, but could it be the same one? Could Hell have simply leeched the color out of it?

“Come on, Detective, you really must eat,” says Lucifer, startling her out of the daze she’s fallen into. She gives herself a little shake and realizes that he’s right; she’s so hungry that she’s losing the ability to focus. 

She follows him out of the car towards a taco stand that she recognizes as one of his favorites. Picnic tables dot the concrete around them, but they’re sparsely populated, given that it’s after noon on a weekday. The line of customers is moving quickly; office workers from the nearby skyscrapers, all preoccupied with their phones, pay in cash and take their late lunch to go.

“Another question for you,” she adds, while they’re waiting.

“Shoot,” says Lucifer.

Chloe decides to skip the formal lead-up and get right to the heart of the issue. “You died?”

But Lucifer doesn’t look startled or even surprised. “Couple of times,” he says casually. “Do you want to split on extra guacamole?”

“Will you tell me about how you died?” Chloe counter-offers.

Lucifer sighs. “All right,” he says. “Quick and dirty versions, though. I don’t have— well, I _do_ have all day, but there are a few other things I’d rather be doing.”

Chloe agrees. They still have to interview the victim’s boyfriend, and determine whether or not he had something to do with her death. Also, assuming Maze texts her back soon, she’d like to find out more about this mysterious Heavenly deal-thing that Lucifer supposedly has going on. And... 

Without meaning to, Chloe thinks of the few minutes of passion they enjoyed in the archives just after he arrived. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it out loud, she certainly wouldn’t mind if they had time to revisit that. 

Seems like a lot to cram into a little under 20 hours.

“Me too,” she says finally. “So you better start talking.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, she’s full of guacamole and more questions than answers; Lucifer’s quick and dirty run-down of the times he died leaves quite a bit to be desired.

About the only thing she clearly takes away from their conversation is that he did it for her — the first time, to distract Malcolm (“If I couldn’t talk him down, I really thought you’d use that time for you and the urchin to get away, darling”), and the second to visit Professor Carlisle in his loop, to get the antidote formula (“By the way, I checked again recently, and you’ll be happy to know he’s right where I left him”). 

The realization that he died for her puts her back on the set of that reality show, when his true identity was still new to her, and she was (shamefully) dealing with Father Kinley behind his back. He’d thrown himself in front of her, to protect her from their perp without a second thought. She should have known it then, that he wasn’t evil, that he loved her, and if she’d known about the other times he’d done something like that, she might have.

Though — maybe she did.

 _I thought he killed you,_ she’d said, after Malcolm shot him. 

_Oh, he did,_ had been his answer. _I got better._

And when she came to in the hospital with him at her bedside after receiving the antidote: _You didn’t die after all. That makes one of us._

She’d ignored those comments, written each of them off as just another kooky thing that her kooky partner said. Never mind the fact that her kooky partner has never lied to her — beyond omitting a few facts here and there, of course. 

Why hadn’t she believed him sooner? Trusted him?

But there’s no going backwards — not even Amenadiel can manipulate time like that — so she rests her chin on her hand and watches him from the other side of the picnic table. He eats his last taco with relish, even though it’s probably cold by now as he spent so much time talking, and daintily wipes his fingers on a paper napkin. 

“What?” he says, catching her staring. “Have I got salsa on my face?”

He snatches up a napkin and runs it over his mouth, even though she shakes her head.

“Just processing,” she explains.

Lucifer frowns. “Not going to flee to Rome again, are you? Because we really don’t have time for that.” 

He probably means it as a joke, but his voice is too fraught, his body language too tight. Chloe reaches across the table to grab his hand. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she reassures him. She takes a breath, says the words that she said the night he left, the words she wishes she’d said a lot sooner. “I love you.”

He gets that look again, the one that’s been seared in her memory since they stood on that balcony — an expression of disbelief, of longing. She can’t stand to see it, so she pulls on his arm at the same time she pushes herself forward. Their mouths collide the way she intended, hard at first, then softening, as he raises one hand to cup her jaw, his thumb stroking her cheek. She slips her tongue against the seam of his lips, and a tiny sound escapes his throat. 

Her priorities shift at once. The case, the mystery of his presence on Earth — these are trivial concerns that fall away. All she wants now is to hear him make that sound again. She moves her tongue once more, and this time he opens to her, inviting her in. His fingers bury themselves in her hair, and she seriously regrets doing this across the table, because there is way too space between them. 

“Jeez, get a room, you two,” says a familiar voice to her left, startling Chloe into pulling back.

Lucifer recovers first. “Mazikeen,” he says, straightening up.

“Your Highness,” she replies, sarcastic. “You left without me.”

Lucifer fiddles with his suit, adjusting it in ways that Chloe is sure no one but him would ever notice. “Yes, well, you seemed to have a lot going on here, what with Charlie, and... Eve,” he concludes, surprisingly tender. “How’s that going, by the way?”

But Maze reacts to his soft tone with visible hardness: she squares her shoulders, presses her mouth into a thin line. “She left town,” she says curtly. “Said she had to _find herself,_ and she’d look me up when she was ready. Whatever that means.”

“Ah,” says Lucifer. He looks like he regrets asking. “Well, after everything that happened between us, and that fiasco at the Mayan.... She is only human, after all. Give her time.”

“Yeah,” Maze replies shortly. She turns to Chloe with a slightly warmer expression. “You needed me, Decker?”

Chloe glances between Maze and Lucifer, sensing the awkwardness. “You could’ve just texted me back,” she says.

Lucifer begins gathering their taco wrappers and napkins from the table, uncharacteristically thoughtful. Chloe has a feeling he’s trying to get out of whatever he stepped in a moment ago.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Maze replies, with an almost normal smile. “You said you needed my help. I brought knives,” she adds, almost sing-song.

Chloe chuckles, spares her a quick look. Maze is holding her motorcycle helmet and has no bag; Chloe’s not sure she wants to know where the knives are stashed. 

“That’s not— I just wanted to talk, Maze,” Chloe clarifies. “And I kinda wanted to talk to you away from, you know,” she adds in a lower voice, jerking her head towards Lucifer, who’s attempting to put their trash in the bin without touching anything more than he has to. It’s oddly endearing.

Maze follows her gaze and huffs out a laugh. “You’re such a prude, Decker,” she says. “Okay. Look, when it comes to pleasing him in bed, the first thing—”

“Whoa,” Chloe exclaims, loud enough that a woman in line at the taco truck looks up from her phone. “Whoa,” Chloe says again, more quietly. Her face is flame red now, she knows, and although she’s aware that Lucifer is nearby, she can’t look at him. “That’s not what I meant, either.”

“It’s not?” Maze looks completely stumped. “Then what—?”

“She wants to talk to you because you’re not bound by the laws of Heaven,” Lucifer finishes smoothly. 

Chloe turns to him in alarm. “You knew?”

“Of course,” Lucifer says with a smirk. “Who do you think gave Doctor Linda the idea?”

“But— I thought—” Chloe sputters. 

“Just because _I_ can’t break Dad’s rules doesn’t mean I have to stop someone else from doing it,” Lucifer says, because of course he would. 

Chloe stares. She shouldn’t be surprised, and yet. “You and your loopholes,” she mutters. 

Lucifer doesn’t look the least bit sorry, just shoos her towards Maze. “Go on, have your conference. I’ll be over here, enjoying plausible deniability. But,” he adds, with a chagrined glance at his watch, “if we’re going to talk to our fashion-impaired person of interest before he goes to work, Detective, you’d best hurry.”

“Dammit,” Chloe sighs, because he’s right again; time truly is against her today. She turns back to Maze. “Feel up to tagging along? We can talk after we see this guy.”

“Hell yeah,” says Maze, with her usual enthusiasm. “You know me, Decker, I’m always up for catching bad guys.”

“We don’t know if he’s our bad guy yet,” Chloe points out, but Maze is already putting her helmet on. 

“I’ll follow you, yeah?” she says, muffled.

“Sure,” Chloe sighs. She heads back to the car, digging her keys out of her pocket.

Lucifer looks disappointed for about three seconds until she tosses them to him. “Come on,” she says. “We can’t let Maze beat us there.”

The grin that spreads across his face is almost enough to make her forget that he was ever gone. “You mean I have your permission to break the law?”

 _Like my permission means a damn thing,_ Chloe thinks, but out loud she says, “Just this once.”

“Lovely,” Lucifer says, and he starts the engine — again, without the key.

Chloe shakes her head and climbs in, wondering if her car will need an exorcism after today. 

* * *

By the time they arrive at the run-down apartment building where Roberta Sutton’s boyfriend lives, Chloe’s stress levels are through the roof. She’s just spent the last twenty minutes as an unwilling passenger in a drag race with Maze’s motorcycle, and her late lunch is churning in her stomach.

“I am never letting you drive again,” she declares, her eyes still squeezed shut as she focuses on not throwing up.

“Oh, come on, it was fun,” Lucifer counters. “And I would have kept you perfectly safe if something happened.”

“You can’t promise—” Chloe begins, but she decides it’s really not worth arguing about right now. “If you insist on driving like that, we’ll get one of your cars from Lux, and you can go solo.”

Lucifer makes the kind of sound that normal people would make if you showed them a basket of kittens. “You kept my cars?”

“Well, yeah,” says Chloe, puzzled by his reaction. “We didn’t really know what else to do with them.”

“And they’re running well?”

“Uh,” says Chloe. “I think so? Maze takes them out once a week or so to keep them from seizing, but otherwise, nobody’s touched them.”

“Good. That’s good,” says Lucifer, nodding with approval. “And the penthouse?”

Chloe hesitates. The penthouse is a bit trickier, but she doesn’t want to get into it right now. “Exactly as you left it,” she says.

She can feel him looking at her. She knows he caught her moment of uncertainty, but she didn’t lie — she just omitted a few details — so she doesn’t let herself feel guilty. She reaches for the door handle instead. 

“Shall we?” she asks.

Lucifer doesn’t answer, but he opens his door as well. Maze is waiting for them a few feet ahead, leaning against her parked bike. 

“Finally,” she says. “You two have to have a heart-to-heart every few minutes, or what?”

“Actually, I was trying not to puke,” Chloe retorts. “Your boss’ driving is—”

“Awesome?” Maze interjects.

“Hellish,” Chloe concludes. 

Maze snorts. “Humans,” she scoffs, but it’s fond.

“Come on,” Chloe says, beginning to head in the direction of the building. “Let’s go see if Tim’s home.”

“Right. Tim,” Maze repeats behind her. “What’s his deal?”

“Victim’s boyfriend,” Lucifer explains. “Everyone at work thought he was her husband, much to her actual husband’s surprise and dismay.”

“Ooh,” says Maze. “Juicy.”

Lucifer tells her more as they walk — mostly unimportant details, such as how Tim has no understanding of how to properly mix patterns, or even what size he wears — and Chloe finds herself calm again. Almost happy. She’s missed this, maybe even more than she’d realized. Missed him, and all of his Lucifer-ness. Having him at her back again feels a little like coming home.

 _And tomorrow morning you’ll have to say goodbye all over again,_ a tiny voice inside her head reminds her. 

She pushes it aside and concentrates on the case. Tomorrow’s problems are tomorrow’s. She skims the names on the buzzer outside the entrance to the lobby until she finds it: Gainsley, Tim. Apartment 502.

She punches in the code, then turns to her companions while she waits. Lucifer is staring with curiosity and disgust at a dark stain on the wall. Maze is cleaning her fingernails with a very sharp knife. Chloe can’t believe how normal it feels, being here with them.

“Yeah?” says a male voice through the intercom. 

Chloe identifies herself and her reason for coming. Tim doesn’t seem happy about any of it, but he lets them in. 

The elevator smells like dirty socks and day-old beer. The floor is sticky under Chloe’s shoes. She pushes the button for the 5th floor with her elbow, not wanting to touch it.

“Charming decor,” Lucifer remarks, as the elevator begins its lumbering ascent. He examines his face in the grimy mirror on the back wall. “These fluorescent lights are doing nothing for my complexion.”

“I’ll be sure to bring that up with management before we leave,” says Chloe. Maze chuckles on her other side. 

They reach the 5th floor, and find 502 at the end of the hall. Chloe knocks. 

The man who opens the door is definitely Tim Gainsley. Even in a plain blue t-shirt, Chloe recognizes him from the ATM security footage. She verifies his identity anyway, and introduces herself again. “Do you mind if we come in?” she asks. 

“Kinda, yeah,” Tim replies. “I gotta head out soon, I start work at 3.”

“This’ll only take a minute,” Chloe assures him. 

Tim’s eyes slide uncertainly to Maze, and land on Lucifer, taking in his appearance. “Yeah, okay.”

“Thank you,” says Chloe, but Tim’s not looking at her anymore. 

“So, what can I help you with, Detective?” he asks, closing the door behind them.

“Well,” Chloe starts, at the same time Lucifer says, “She’s the detective, not me.”

It’s then that Chloe realizes that Tim’s question was directed at him; he’s one of _those_ guys. She makes a decision.

“Yes, he’s just accompanying me on this case,” she says quickly, avoiding the _civilian consultant_ thing, hoping that Tim will draw his own conclusions. 

Lucifer looks confused, but he reads Chloe’s expression and nods. In that tiny movement, Chloe feels a rush of joy and relief at having her partner back — someone who gets her, someone she can have a silent conversation with — even as the little voice in her head reminds her not to get used to it.

“I accompany her on a lot of cases,” Lucifer says, not lying, but not telling the whole truth either — which is, of course, what he does best.

Chloe knows her ploy works when Tim nods and says to Lucifer in a low voice, “Can’t do anything without supervision, can they?”

“Hey,” Maze protests immediately. 

Tim raises his hands in defense and laughs — it makes Chloe’s skin crawl. “It’s just a joke, relax, Xena, jeez.”

When he turns back to offer Lucifer a cup of coffee, Chloe grabs Maze’s arm. “He’ll talk more freely if he thinks Lucifer’s on his side,” she whispers. “Just go with it. Please?”

Maze glares. “You owe me,” she breathes.

“I know. Nice place you have here,” Chloe adds a little louder, knowing how it’ll be received. “I like the layout.”

Tim, as she expected, rolls his eyes at her over his shoulder. “What can I do for you?” he asks Lucifer. “I assume this is about Roberta? The officers who were here earlier said you’d be coming by.”

“Indeed it is,” Lucifer replies. “You were at the bar the night she died, yes?”

“Yeah,” Tim confirms. “I work 3 to 11, usually head to the bar after, hang out with her until close, and then I drive her home.”

“And how does her husband feel about your little arrangement?” Lucifer asks.

Tim snorts. “That guy? That guy wouldn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground. Bobbie was gonna leave him.”

“Bobbie?” Chloe repeats, upping the ditzy factor just a hair. 

“Roberta,” Tim says. “It’s a nickname,” he adds, like he’s not sure Chloe will understand.

Chloe suppresses a grin. He’s underestimating her even more than she’d expected. She raises her eyebrows at Maze — _Told you_ — and Maze rolls her eyes. 

“Don’t get cocky, Decker,” she says in a low voice.

“And can you think of anyone who might’ve wanted to hurt her?” Lucifer asks. 

Chloe’s gotta hand it to him — he sounds like a real cop. Tim responds with a shake of his head. 

“Nah,” he says. “Bobbie’s the best— she’s a sweetheart, just a real nice girl. Everybody loves her.”

Lucifer opens his mouth, but Chloe shakes her head on a hunch. 

“I mean, except that bitch she was working with the other night,” Tim adds after a moment. 

“Lillian?” says Chloe. Tim nods.

“What makes you think Lillian disliked Roberta?” Lucifer asks.

“She hates both of us,” Tim tells him. “She was always giving me the stink eye. Wouldn’t shut up about how I was controlling Bobbie, how I wanted to keep her home like a good little wife, and hey, maybe I did, okay? I mean, you get it. I’m sure you wouldn’t want _your_ woman out till 4 in the morning every night with the scumbags who go into that place. That’s not a crime.”

“No, it’s not a crime to want to protect the people you love,” Lucifer agrees, quiet and oddly tight.

Tim nods fervently. “Bobbie didn’t mind that I was there,” he goes on. “Bobbie liked it that I cared — that I took care of her. She wanted me to pick her up every night, and if that bitch hadn’t kicked me out, I might’ve— I would’ve been there. I would’ve....”

He trails off, swipes his sleeve over his nose like a child might. Lucifer makes eye contact with Chloe, and Chloe nods for him to continue.

“You say Lillian kicked you out?” he asks. “Why?”

Tim scoffs. “Same femi-nazi bullshit as usual,” he says, which evaporates any compassion that might have been building for him in Chloe’s heart. “You know how it is, right? She asked Bobbie if she wanted me to stay, and Bobbie said yeah, but that bitch, she kept right on yammering about red flags and control and how Bobbie had to be independent. I tried to tell her, Bobbie doesn’t care about that, but Lillian just called up the bouncer and told him I threatened her. Next thing I know, I’m out on my ass.”

“And then you used the ATM across the street,” Chloe prompted.

Tim glares at her. “Yeah. So what? Is that a crime now, too?”

“Mr. Gainsley? Look at me,” Lucifer says, and his voice is like silk. Tim turns at once, falling easily under Lucifer’s spell. “Tell me, what did you want to do when you left the bar? What was your desire?”

Tim’s mouth hangs open. He doesn’t blink. “I wanted to go back and punch that bitch in the face,” he says flatly.

Chloe notices Maze is clenching her fists as much as Chloe is clenching her jaw, but neither of them interject.

“Right,” says Lucifer evenly, maintaining eye contact. “And did you ever want to hit Roberta?”

“Yeah,” Tim answers. “Didn’t, though.”

Lucifer nods. “Did you go back to the bar after you were kicked out?”

Tim shakes his head. “I got money from the ATM, picked up a case of beer, and came home to drink it off. Didn’t wake up till noon the next day, and by then....”

“By then, Roberta was already dead,” Chloe finishes quietly. She nods at Lucifer, who looks away. Tim blinks, shakes his head again as if to clear it. 

“We’ll need the address of the store you went to, plus any receipts you have,” Chloe says. “Also, your property manager’s phone number. I want to see if we can get footage from the lobby to verify the time you came home.”

“Okay,” says Tim. All the fight seems to have gone out of him. He nods and goes to his jacket, which is draped across the back of a recliner. He fishes a crumpled receipt out of the pocket and hands it over, taking Chloe’s pen and notepad in exchange. He writes down the intersection of the convenience store he visited, and contact information for the building management. 

“Thanks,” says Chloe when he hands it back. “Don’t leave town. We may have more questions.”

“Also, I really like knowing where you live,” Maze says, her voice like a growl. “For future reference.”

“Maze,” Chloe scolds under her breath, but she really doesn’t blame her. Chloe ushers Maze towards the door, and Lucifer, as always, follows at Chloe’s heels. 

“Oh, one more thing,” says Chloe, turning back once they’re in the hall. “Did you ever know Roberta to be depressed? Did she ever talk about wanting to harm or even kill herself?”

“What?” Tim asks, some of his attitude creeping back into his voice. “What the hell are you talking about, lady?”

He looks to Lucifer like he expects Lucifer to back him up, but Lucifer’s expression is cold. “Answer her,” he says, quietly but in a tone that brooks no argument.

“No,” Tim says at once. “No, she never— no. Not at all.”

Chloe waits a few seconds to see if he’s going to backpedal, but he stays silent, his eyes flicking uncertainly between her and Lucifer.

“Okay,” Chloe says at last. “Thank you for your time.”

“Yes, thank you,” Lucifer says, too buttery and much too sweet. “I have no doubt I’ll be seeing you again later.”

“Definitely,” Maze agrees darkly. 

Chloe turns and walks away, as if everything’s normal. As if she’s not accompanied by the two weirdest people — well, not people, really — that she could have brought to an interview, and heads back to the elevator. Behind her, she hears Tim shut his apartment door, slowly and carefully.

“What do you make of that?” Chloe asks as the elevator starts to move, examining the receipt he’d handed her. 

“You mean, other than the fact that he’s a misogynistic piece of human garbage?” Lucifer asks.

Chloe half-chuckles. Maze has produced a knife from somewhere and is twirling it between her fingers. “Yeah. Other than that,” Chloe says.

“Unfortunately, I think he’s a misogynistic piece of human garbage that’s telling the truth,” Lucifer sighs.

“I think we need to talk to Lillian again,” Chloe says after a moment’s thought. “She didn’t say anything about kicking Tim out that night, which is definitely suspicious. In fact, didn’t she say he was a nice guy?”

“She did,” Lucifer confirms. “And given what the garbage man said, it seems like she downplayed any concerns she might have had about Tim controlling our victim.”

“Or, the garbage man just thinks that any woman who isn’t smiling is being hysterical,” Maze puts in.

Chloe has to give her that one. “A definite possibility,” she admits. “We’ll check his story, see if it pans out.”

The elevator dings, and the doors open to reveal the dismal lobby, but Chloe barely notices, her mind spinning around the case. She should call Dan and get someone to look into Tim’s convenience store alibi. And she definitely needs to contact Lillian, to see about this phony threat Tim mentioned. It would also be a good idea to get hold of her husband and verify her alibi. 

Chloe wonders as well if Ella’s found more forensic evidence, too — something that would put someone else at the scene. Because, as plausible as it may seem, the suicide angle just doesn’t sit right with her. She’s not even sure she can articulate why, but there’s something that doesn’t add up. Plus, there’s a nagging sense at the back of her mind that she’s forgotten something, like she left the stove on; her house could be burning down this very minute, and she just doesn’t know it yet. 

She spends the walk from the elevator to the parking lot trying to pin it down, but eventually she has to give up. It’ll either come back to her, or it won’t — chasing it isn’t going to help. 

“So,” says Maze, when they reach Chloe’s car. “You want to talk now, or should I just follow you around some more? Not that I’m complaining — this detective thing is kinda fun — but I should get back to Lux at some point, since somebody’s gotta open the place before I go back home to babysit.”

“Thanks again for doing that,” Chloe says. “We should talk,” she adds, when Maze waves off her gratitude.

“Okay,” Maze agrees easily. Then, just as casual, she adds, “Go away, Lucifer.”

Lucifer makes an outraged noise in his throat. “You could at least say please.” 

When Maze’s expression doesn’t waver, he sighs and starts walking away. “Fine. Fine, I’ll... entertain myself for a moment.”

“Careful how you do that, Decker might arrest you for indecent exposure,” Maze calls after him with a grin. 

Lucifer spins and offers her a middle finger in return — apparently, he’s fluent in offensive gestures, too. Maze laughs, and Chloe can’t help but snicker as well. She’s really missed this. Maze has been around, of course, but with her close relationship with Linda and Amenadiel, and helping with Charlie, and managing Lux, Chloe hasn’t seen this side of her much. She’s just not the same when she’s not giving Lucifer a hard time.

“So, what do you want to know?” Maze asks. 

Chloe takes a deep breath and decides to start right at the beginning. “Amenadiel told me that Lucifer made a deal with his Father to get back here today.”

Maze nods. “Sounds like the kind of thing he’d do.”

Chloe frowns. “By _he..._ do you mean Lucifer, or God?”

Maze huffs out a laugh. “Take your pick,” she replies. Her eyes dart away, like she’s checking to see if Lucifer’s in earshot, then she lowers her voice. “They’re really not that different.”

“Who?”

“Father and son,” Maze says, even quieter. “But don’t tell him that. _Ever.”_

For one moment, a part of Chloe’s brain struggles, all over again, to take in the fact that her partner is who he is — and so is his Father — but she shoves it aside.

“Okay,” she says. “But the details of the deal — Lucifer and Amenadiel won’t talk about it.”

Maze doesn’t look surprised. “Laws of Heaven,” she says. “It’s not that they won’t talk about it; they can’t.”

Chloe thinks back to Amenadiel saying the same thing in the kitchen earlier; she thought he’d been speaking figuratively.

“Don’t take it personally,” Maze adds. “Angels don’t really have free will the way you and I do.”

“What?” Chloe blurts, taken aback. Lucifer embodies free will, in her mind, and even Amenadiel makes his own choices. “But Lucifer’s revealed— he doesn’t keep his identity a secret, or anything.”

“True,” says Maze. “Lucifer can and does break the rules — he did it for Linda, he did it to kill Cain. So if he’s not telling you anything, I’m guessing it’s because this deal has something to do with you, and he’s not gonna do anything to compromise that.”

“But,” says Chloe, still feeling lost. “I don’t get it. What do you mean about free will?”

“If Lucifer and Amenadiel were anyone else,” Maze explains, “they literally wouldn’t have been able to say anything. Angels who don’t spend much time on Earth, they’re like robots. They don’t think for themselves very much. And if they try to go against Daddy’s rules, like, if they wanted to explain something Divine to a human without the Big Guy’s say-so? They’d have no voice when they tried to speak.” She pauses, thinks for a second. “Or maybe their mouths would seal up, you know, like that part in _The Matrix_ where Smith’s interrogating Neo? Not too sure.”

Chloe’s frozen, horrified, but Maze doesn’t seem to notice. 

“Amenadiel used to be like that,” she goes on. “Then he got assigned to bring Lucifer back, and he started spending more time on Earth, becoming more independent, you know? Not to mention creative. Crafty, even, sleeping with me to get to Lucifer, raising Malcolm from Hell and all.”

“Stop,” says Chloe, finally finding her voice. “Stop. He— Malcolm— what? What are you talking about?”

“What?” Maze says, like she didn’t hear. Then she seems to notice Chloe’s freaking out. “Oh. Wow. Lucifer didn’t tell you anything, did he?”

“Apparently not,” Chloe says faintly, shaken. 

Maze sighs. “Look, it’s not my place to explain everything,” she says. “Literally. I have no jurisdiction over the matters of Heaven or Hell. I just know what Lucifer’s told me over the years.”

“So—” Chloe manages to say. She feels about eight steps behind. “So, when Lucifer says he rebelled,” she begins, but she’s not sure how to finish the question. 

Maze knows what she means. “Now you see why it was such a big deal,” she says. “And why none of his siblings really get him. He’s different, and his Dad punished him for it.”

“But—” Chloe stammers. “But his Dad— made him like that, didn’t He? I mean, He knows everything, so... why—?”

Maze shrugs. She looks sympathetic. “Divine mystery,” she says simply. “Try not to think about it too much, Decker. It might break your brain, and I kinda like your brain.”

“Thanks,” Chloe says absently.

Maze claps her on the shoulder, gentle but not that gentle. “Also, for what it’s worth, rumor has it that Lucifer’s Mom made a lot more of him than his Dad did, which would explain a lot.”

Chloe nods, then Maze’s words sink in. “Wait... Mom?” she repeats. 

Maze’s expression freezes, her hand tightening on Chloe’s jacket. “Oh no,” she mutters. “Dammit, Lucifer. This is worse than that time Trixie asked what a 69 was, and he wanted me to explain it.”

“He did _what?!”_ Chloe shouts. “What? Maze!”

“Take it easy, Decker, I didn’t do it. Obviously,” Maze answers, clearly put out. “That’s what Google is for.”

Everything that Chloe thought she knew about the universe is rapidly collapsing, but all she can think about is whether there are parental controls and safe search installed on every single computer or smart phone that her daughter has access to. She has to call Dan, right now, and explain— but Maze is laughing and prying her phone out of her hands. 

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” she says. “Seriously, relax. I told her it was a race car thing, and that she should ask you or Dan if she has more questions.”

“Oh,” says Chloe. She feels like she’s run a marathon: her heart is thumping, she can’t catch her breath, and her legs feel like rubber. “Okay, then.”

“I think you better sit down,” says Maze with some concern. She nudges Chloe back until she’s leaning against the passenger door of her car. “Let me see your eyes, I want to make sure they’re not bleeding.”

“What—?” Chloe shakes her head free of Maze’s grasp. “My eyes aren’t bleeding, Maze, they’re fine.”

“Okay,” says Maze. She sounds dubious, but she backs off at least. 

“Brain might be, though,” Chloe adds. “God— ugh. _Someone._ Lucifer didn’t even scratch the surface, did he?”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Maze agrees, with a commiserating expression. She sighs. “Look, Divine mysteries aside, I think it’s pretty clear that Lucifer made a deal with his Dad so he could see you again. Even if it’s just for one day.”

“Why would he do that?” Chloe wonders. “That only makes it harder.”

“Maybe,” Maze concedes, her eyes tracking Lucifer’s movements, somewhere off to the right behind Chloe. “Maybe it’s worth it.”

Chloe hums, thinking this over. “Maybe.” _For him,_ she adds silently.

“But the thing about deals with Lucifer’s Dad,” Maze cautions, focusing on her again, “is that they’re never quite what they seem.”

Chloe narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?” she asks. She’s almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Well, you know what they say about deals with the Devil, right?”

“You can have what you want, but there’s always a catch?”

“Exactly,” Maze confirms. “Everyone accuses Lucifer of pulling that shit, but his Dad is ten times worse. He’s always playing His own angle, He _always_ has a plan, and He’s the only one who knows what it is. My guess is, He agreed to Lucifer’s terms, to let him have a day on Earth with you, but only because it fits into His own goals. He’s getting something out of this, but chances are none of us will ever know what.”

“That’s...” Chloe says after a moment, “not very reassuring.”

“Yeah,” Maze agrees. “But at least you’re not Job,” she adds, sounding overly optimistic. 

“Job? Like, from the Bible?”

Maze nods. “Poor sucker got caught in a deal between Lucifer and his Dad — well, more of a pissing contest, really, and....” She winces. “Let’s just say, it did not end well for him.”

Chloe thinks back to the few Sunday school lessons she can remember. She was pretty young — her grandmother used to take her, before Chloe’s mother signed her up for a theater class that met on Sundays as a thin excuse to get out of going. 

“Didn’t Job’s entire family get killed, or something like that?”

Maze nods, a grin spreading across her face. “Yeah. It was awesome.” 

Chloe blinks, and Maze seems to remember that she’s still there. “I mean, I’m sure it’ll be nothing like that for you,” she says in a hurry. “Lucifer’s Dad was pretty hot-headed in those days. He’s mellowed out quite a bit since then. You’ll probably be fine.”

“Right,” says Chloe. She feels another existential crisis coming on, but she draws a deep breath and pushes it down.

Maze smiles, and it’s surprisingly soft. “Hey. Lucifer wouldn’t have agreed to a deal if he wasn’t a hundred percent sure that you’d get through it safely. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees. She doesn’t know much, but that at least is clear.

Maze nods and steps away. Chloe watches her wave Lucifer over. Their paths intersect at Maze’s motorcycle, and they talk for a moment in voices too quiet for her to make out. 

_More mysteries,_ she thinks, reflecting on the myriad of unbelievable things she’s learned. _Just what I needed today._


	5. Chapter 5

After a quick check-in with Dan, Lucifer asks if they can stop at the penthouse before returning to the precinct. Chloe feels like she should feel guilty, going along — he can manage by himself — but Dan’s handling the artisan’s market, asking the other vendors if they knew Roberta, so she’s at loose ends for the moment. Also, she doesn’t really want to let Lucifer out of her sight again; she’s afraid of what might happen.

That fear has been building since they got in the car. Without the task of driving to distract her, Chloe has been worrying the whole time, thinking about everything that Maze just told her about God’s habit of making shady, underhanded deals to suit His own purposes. 

Is she tempting fate, thinking of Him like that? Amenadiel might not read minds, but his Father can, and He must know how angry Chloe’s been at Him since Lucifer left. What if He decides to punish her for that? What if, by thinking of Him in this way, she’s sealed Lucifer’s fate — what if He changes their deal and takes Lucifer away? What if He hurts him? 

If God decides that she doesn’t deserve to see His son, there won’t be anything that Chloe or Lucifer can do. And what if his Mother decides to get involved? 

Chloe laughs abruptly, breaking the silence of the car. Talk about crazy in-laws.

“What’s funny?” asks Lucifer, but Chloe is imagining dinner with Lucifer’s parents and it’s filling her with a manic sort of glee that feeds on her fear and takes over her body.

“I— I just—” she says, unable to stop. She’s half-giggling, half-crying, and definitely panicking.

“Breathe, Detective,” says Lucifer with some concern. His hand is on her forearm suddenly. “Chloe? Take a deep breath for me.”

She tries, a couple of times, and finally succeeds. 

“Good,” Lucifer says. “Again?”

Chloe nods, breathes a bit more. 

“Very good,” says Lucifer. “Can you tell me five things you see?”

Chloe stops mid-breath — how does he know? — but then she nods again. “Red car, road, dashboard, radio dial. You,” she concludes softly.

Lucifer takes his eyes off the road briefly, sends her a half-smile. “Good,” he says again. “Four things you can touch?”

It’s automatic, reaching her hand out — the window is cool, the dash is dusty, her blouse is damp with sweat, and Lucifer’s hand is warm and solid.

“And lastly, three things you can hear,” Lucifer instructs. “If there are three things. I know it’s kind of quiet, so if you can only hear one or—”

“Your voice,” Chloe answers readily.

“—two,” Lucifer finishes. He squeezes her arm. “All right,” he says, putting his hand back on the wheel. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Chloe replies. She wipes at her eyes. “Thanks.”

“That’s been happening a lot lately,” he says. It’s not quite a question, but Chloe answers all the same. 

“Yeah,” she says again. “Since— well. They’ve been worse since you left, but they started when I was in Rome.”

She can’t look at him, but she sees him turn his head quickly before focusing back on the road. The silence settles between them, thicker than before. Chloe doesn’t know what more she can say. 

Finally, Lucifer sighs. “I’ve had a lot of time to think,” he begins. “And I don’t know if I ever properly apologized for the way you found out about me.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Chloe says before she can stop herself, but Lucifer holds up his hand.

“I wanted to tell you differently,” he says. “I wanted you to feel safe, to know that the truth couldn’t hurt you, that I— that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

“I know that,” Chloe says.

“Yes, _now_ you do,” Lucifer corrects her gently. “But it shouldn’t have been a question. If I’d been able to... well. I couldn’t show you my true face when I wanted to, because I didn’t have it.”

“You didn’t have it?” Chloe repeats. “What do you mean?”

“It’s a long story, but it came back when I killed Cain, and I didn’t mean for you to see it like that.”

Chloe thinks again about that day — their miraculous escape to the roof, the white feathers strewn around the loft. “You couldn’t have shown me something else Divine, to convince me?” she asks.

Like he just can’t help himself, Lucifer looks away from the road and gives her a suggestive leer. Chloe realizes her mistake and rolls her eyes. 

“Not _that,”_ she says, fighting back a laugh. “I meant your wings.”

“Oh.” The humor falls off his face at once. “Well, for starters, I hated them at the time. Thought they were a cruel joke my Father was playing on me. Cut them off as many times as I could, but the damn things kept coming back.”

Chloe blinks, thinking of the huge, ugly scars that she noticed on his back all those years ago, the ones he didn’t want her to touch. She can only imagine the pain that must have caused, and to think that he had the strength to do that multiple times? She shudders. 

“But more importantly,” Lucifer goes on, “humans’ reactions to proof of the Divine can be unpredictable at best. Sometimes one little peek at an angel’s wings is enough to drive someone into a state of... well, holy madness.”

“So,” Chloe says slowly, “when your wings got stolen....”

“Yes, that’s why I needed to get them back, so they wouldn’t wreak havoc all over Earth.”

 _He was protecting us even then,_ Chloe thinks, and, again, she’s struck by how wrong everyone has been over the years — the centuries — when they’ve described the Devil. She also can’t believe she fell for the propaganda and trusted it more than she trusted her partner, but there’s nothing she can do about that now. 

“Bad enough the auctioneer got it,” Lucifer adds in an undertone. “I was afraid you might go round the bend, too.”

Chloe remembers hearing from her FBI liaison two days after the auction that the man in charge had turned himself in, ranting and raving about God and angels and holy light. She’d written it off, assumed the guy was probably already a lunatic if he was auctioning off fake religious artifacts as if they were real, but— 

“He really saw your wings,” she says aloud. “And he... went crazy?”

“More or less,” Lucifer confirms. “But, really, I should have guessed that wouldn’t happen to you. Given... everything.”

“You mean because I’m immune to your mojo?”

“Mm,” says Lucifer, instead of answering — which is a bit too evasive for Chloe’s tastes, but after a moment she decides to let it slide.

“In any case,” Lucifer concludes, “the way you found out about me is one of the few regrets of my life. And I’m sorry. Truly.”

“Thank you for saying that,” Chloe tells him. She reaches over and lays her hand over his. He smiles and lets her take it off the steering wheel and hold it. “I accept your apology. But really,” she goes on, “it wasn’t your fault.”

Lucifer’s mouth twists. She can tell he doesn’t believe her, so she says it again. 

“I heard you the first time,” he says, with only the barest hint of his usual snark. 

“Yeah, well, you’re gonna keep hearing it,” Chloe says, and he smiles, just a little. 

“Your turn to be uncomfortable,” he says after a moment, falsely bright. “What were you panicking about a minute ago?”

“Oh,” says Chloe, feeling her cheeks heat with shame. “I was— it’s stupid,” she says.

“No no no,” Lucifer insists. “You listen to me, I listen to you, that’s how these things work, or so Doctor Linda keeps saying.”

“These things?” Chloe repeats, confused. 

“Relationships,” Lucifer answers, as if it’s clear. “Human relationships, rather.”

“Ah,” Chloe says. That’s fair, she supposes. “I was panicking about... your Dad,” she says finally. 

Lucifer takes his eyes off the road again, but Chloe stares pointedly out the windshield until he does the same. 

“What about Him?” he asks, when Chloe doesn’t go on.

Chloe swallows hard and forces the words out, even though they’re as jumbled and chaotic out loud as they are in her head. “Maze told me about how He’s always got a plan, and that nobody knows what it is, but He’s probably up to something, bringing you here. I know that sounds kinda mean, and I don’t want to insult Him — well, I do — but what if He decides He wants to punish me by hurting you? And that’s not even thinking about your Mom’s role in all this, I mean, Jesus— but not actually Jesus, though maybe? Do you know anything about that?”

“Detective,” Lucifer says, when she pauses to take a breath. “Please, just breathe. It’s all right. I know, it’s a lot to take in. Which is why we’re not really supposed to tell you about it.”

“Right,” Chloe says, feeling almost hysterical again. “Divine mysteries, right?”

“Something like that,” Lucifer agrees. “What I can tell you, unequivocally, is that my Mother has nothing to do with this. She’s not on this plane anymore.”

“Not on— is She dead?” Chloe asks, only realizing after the fact that it’s a pretty insensitive thing to ask. 

“No! No, not at all,” Lucifer replies, unbothered. “No, I sent Her to another dimension, where She could create Her own universe, out of my Father’s shadow.”

“Oh,” says Chloe in a very small voice. Her world takes another second to recalibrate, and then she nods. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Lucifer echoes, with a huff of laughter. “That’s all you’ve got? Okay?”

“Well— I don’t know,” Chloe protests, defensive. “You try finding out that the universe isn’t what you thought it was.”

Lucifer is still chuckling, but he doesn’t argue the point as he pulls off the freeway into the familiar neighborhood of his club. “You’re handling this a lot better than most people would, I think,” he says, looking over when they hit a red light. “You really are a...”

“I’m a what?” Chloe asks, when he trails off. 

But Lucifer shakes his head. “And as for Jesus, well, all I can say about that is, I highly recommend the house red. Rich, full-bodied, not watery in the slightest.”

Chloe laughs. “Biblical humor again?”

“Well someone’s got to make these kinds of jokes,” Lucifer says. “Dad knows Amenadiel won’t.”

The casual mention of his Father sobers Chloe at once. She waits for Lucifer to notice, and finally, as they’re pulling into the underground lot at Lux, he does, letting out a long breath and turning to her after they’re parked. 

“It’s going to be all right,” he says. “Maze isn’t wrong, but I assure you, if Dad’s planning to punish me, it’ll be because of me, not you. It won’t be your fault. I promise.”

Chloe smiles slightly at the echo of her own words from before. She was comforting him about the past, and he is reassuring her about the future. But both are out of reach right now, she thinks. The present is all they have — he wasn’t here yesterday, and he won’t be here tomorrow. 

If today is all they get, then she’s got to make the most of it.

She intertwines their fingers again and leans across the center console to kiss him. This, too, is nothing like their other kisses. He lets her take the lead, opening to her when she slips her tongue against his lips, reacting with that same small sound she heard the last time she tried that. 

She wants more. Chloe’s never been one for reckless behavior, and she hates taking stupid risks, but she knows an opportunity when she sees it. 

She shifts on the seat, getting as close as she can to him. At the same time she brings his hand — the one she’s still holding — to her chest before letting it go. He reacts with a sharp inhalation and spreads his fingers, hefting her breast. His thumb flicks over her nipple and even through the layers of her blouse and her bra, she feels it and gasps. 

Impulsively, she swings her right leg forward, her foot fumbling just for a second before she finds the bar under his seat. She shoves it up with her boot, and his seat clunks back a few crucial inches. He jolts in surprise, his eyes going wide. 

“Detective,” he starts, but Chloe kisses him quiet. 

She has enough room now. She inches nearer, plants one hand on his knee and slides it up his thigh. He makes a satisfied noise low in his chest when she reaches his belt buckle, but then his hand comes from nowhere to grasp her wrist as he gently pulls his mouth away from hers. 

“Detective,” he says again, and a thrill runs through her at how breathless he is. “We are not having sex for the first time in your car.”

“Why not? You wanted to have sex for the first time at the precinct,” Chloe counters. She winces internally at how much it sounds like whining. 

“I did not,” says Lucifer. When Chloe sends him a skeptical look, he adds, “I had a plan. I was just getting us started at the precinct, and then I was going to fly you home.”

“Oh,” Chloe replies. She’s not sure whether she’s disappointed or relieved that his plans fell through.

“Indeed,” Lucifer says. He shifts in the driver’s seat and clears his throat. “Besides, sex in your car just isn’t very appealing to me.”

“What? Come on,” Chloe teases, rubbing his chest, slipping her hand inside his jacket. “It’ll be fun, like we’re horny teenagers again.” 

Lucifer raises an eyebrow. It says all he has to say.

“Okay, it’ll be like I’m a horny teenager again,” Chloe concedes, “and you’re... well, the Devil.”

“Is that supposed to change my mind, Detective?” Lucifer asks. “Because it really isn’t working. As you know, I have nothing against sex in a car, but your car is _not_ sexy.”

Chloe feels unreasonably offended on her car’s behalf. “What’s wrong with my car?”

“You mean, other than the fact that you have criminals in the back every other day? How about the smell, like day-old coffee? Or this dark stain on the seat, and the way the floor mat is very, very sticky?”

“Oh yeah,” says Chloe, remembering. “Trixie spilled her soda the other day.”

“See? Not sexy,” Lucifer laughs.

He gets his hand on the door handle and unlatches it. Chloe reluctantly pulls back and does the same on her side. She follows him towards the entrance, locking the car behind them with her key fob— which is back in her pocket, since Lucifer (again) did not use her keys to drive. 

“Now, _my_ car, on the other hand,” he says as they pass the Corvette, parked in its usual place of honor.

Chloe rolls her eyes and keeps walking. “Let’s just get upstairs.”

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that,” Lucifer remarks. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Chloe mutters, but she’s pleased — more pleased than she will ever let on.

They reach the entrance, and Chloe enters the code to unlock the door. This, at least, hasn’t changed, but when they get to the elevator at the end of the hall, it’s a different story. Lucifer watches with some fascination as she enters another code, then inserts her key before pressing the button for the penthouse. 

“Feels like I’m visiting James Bond,” he remarks as the elevator starts to rise. 

“Yeah, well, with you—” Chloe struggles for a second, then gets the word out— “gone, we didn’t think it was a good idea to leave the place unguarded.”

“You didn’t want to move in?’ Lucifer asks. It sounds like he’s trying to keep it light and not quite managing it. 

Chloe helps him out. “If I moved in, Trixie would move in, and I know I’d never hear the end of it if something valuable got broken or sticky,” she says. “Maze said we’d hear you yelling about it all the way from Hell.”

Lucifer chuckles, but it feels forced. Chloe regrets the joke and switches to a safer topic.

“Also, I figured you had millions of dollars and probably some drugs stashed away, and without you here to maintain your reputation, it was only a matter of time until someone decided to rob the place,” she reports. “So the elevator needs a key to get to the penthouse now, and....”

The elevator stops right on cue, and Chloe presses her thumb to the sensor below the buttons. 

“The doors won’t open on this floor for anyone except me, Maze, Amenadiel, and Linda,” Chloe concludes. 

“Well, it seems you’ve thought of everything, Detective,” Lucifer says, waving for Chloe to exit before him. 

“Yeah,” Chloe agrees, stepping into the familiar space. “We can program your thumbprint too, if—”

She stops, remembers. Turns back to find a half-smile sinking from Lucifer’s expression. 

“Not necessary, I think,” is all he says. 

“Right,” says Chloe softly, nodding in the direction of the floor, since it’s hard to look at him. 

“Chloe,” he murmurs, and just like that he’s closed the distance between them again. She barely has time to draw breath before he’s kissing her, walking her backwards until her butt hits the bar. 

It’s just like this morning — she’s pressed close to him, surrounded by the familiar scent of his cologne that’s tinged with what she now realizes is probably Hellfire smoke. He lifts one of her legs up again, angling her hips until they’re perfectly aligned. He could be fucking her right here, right now, were it not for the clothes separating them, and Chloe is more than half-tempted to make it happen. 

She wants it — she hears herself make a sound like a whimper when he seems to read her mind, his fingers dancing down the buttons of her blouse. Her shirt now open, he slides his warm hands along her skin and around to the back clasp of her bra. A second later, she sighs in relief, and he tugs both bra and blouse down to let them fall on the floor. 

She doesn’t have enough time to feel bashful or joke about him being over dressed. He’s in his element now, she can tell, and he’s yanking at his suit with less care than she’s ever seen him have towards his clothing. She helps him — and not just so he can focus on kissing her — and within seconds he’s shirtless as well. Chloe’s heart pounds as all her blood rushes south. He’s never been shy about his body, but it’s the first time she’s really allowed herself to look— to look, and to want. 

He pulls her forward while she’s still a bit dazed, lifting her up. For a moment she thinks he’s going to set her on the piano, but she should have known that the instrument is too precious to him to risk it. Instead, he carries her to the couch. He sits, pulls her down to straddle him, just like he did in that dream she had once— though she knows now that he’s not going to sprout horns.

She chuckles at the memory. He shoots her a questioning look. She shakes her head, and he goes back to kissing her — first her mouth, then down her jaw, her collarbone, and finally her achingly hard nipples.

“Isn’t this a lot nicer than your car?” he asks.

Chloe nods, biting her lip at the sensation of his voice against her skin. “It’s good,” she manages.

“Good,” he murmurs, but then he stops, looking up. The confidence he’d been embodying since getting her undressed seems to dim. “Are you sure?” he asks. 

Chloe shouldn’t say yes. She’s supposed to be working — there’s still a case to solve — and she know it’s only going to be harder to say goodbye tomorrow morning if she lets her body get a taste for him now. But she nods anyway. She can’t not give in.

“I’m sure,” she says. She slides one hand into his hair, mussing it freely, and works her hips. It’s been a long time since she rode a man like this, but it works — his breathing hitches, his eyelids flutter. 

“I want you,” she tells him, just in case it isn’t clear enough.

He doesn’t reply — not in words, anyway. He kisses her fiercely and tugs her up, putting some space between them again. He makes quick work of her zipper and button and tugs her slacks down. Her phone clatters out of her back pocket, but she doesn’t care. He’s got her pants halfway down her thighs, just far enough for him to get his hand—

She gasps. His fingers stay on the outside of her panties, but she can still feel almost everything. The fabric clings as he slowly and carefully traces her clitoris, as if committing its shape to memory. 

“Oh, G— someone,” she sighs, and he chuckles against her skin.

“Thanks for that,” he says.

His mouth goes back to her nipple as he starts to stroke her clit through her panties, slow and sure. Chloe closes her eyes. The thin layer between them is wonderful and agonizing. It’s been over a year since any hand besides her own touched her, and it takes all of her conviction not to grind up into his touch, not to beg for more.

Still, he grants her wish, tugging the elastic edge aside. If she’d known this was happening today, she might have worn the lacy ones, but she doesn’t let herself get hung up on that detail, since he’s touching her, he’s _finally_ touching her, and the sensation’s building like a strong current, threatening to overwhelm her too soon.

She can’t bear the thought of him stopping, but she can at least warn him. 

“I—” she stutters, as his fingers swirl through her wetness. “Lucifer, I can’t last.”

“Don’t try,” he advises. She opens her eyes, looks into his — they’re serious and kind, no trace of teasing or mischief. “Just let me do this for you, Detective.”

Maybe it’s the title, maybe it’s the kiss that follows, maybe it’s the way his fingertips start drawing messy circles over and around her clit, but the orgasm comes only seconds later, a warm sudden rush that runs through her like a summer storm. For a glorious moment it consumes her completely— and then the release, the relief, the fatigue that comes after hits her square in the chest and she sags against him, spent.

“Beautiful,” Lucifer breathes, extracting his hand. His mouth is somewhere between her ear and her jaw. She squirms at the rasp of his stubble and finds herself laughing. She feels giddy, her thoughts spread far apart and drifting.

Lucifer pulls back, his eyes asking what’s funny, and Chloe shakes her head. “I was just thinking— talk about feeling like a horny teenager, I can’t remember the last time I came in my pants like that.”

Lucifer makes a small, self-satisfied noise and nuzzles her neck some more. Chloe runs her hands over his shoulder blades — free of his scars now, of course. His skin is just a little sweaty, probably sticking to the leather sofa. She buries her nose in his hair and breathes him in. As her head clears, all she wants to do is hold him. 

Because she forgot, for a few blissful minutes, about his deal, his deadline. She forgot that she won’t have this forever. 

Abruptly, she wants to cry. _Hormones,_ she tells herself, but that doesn’t keep her eyes from welling up. She hangs onto Lucifer as tightly as she can, hoping that she can get control of it before he notices, but she knows she failed when he sighs, his breath heating her neck. 

He gently pushes her away and runs his thumb over her cheek. Chloe’s ashamed, embarrassed — especially when she can tell that Lucifer is still very turned on. 

“I’m sorry,” she says again, before he can ask. “It’s nothing. We can still— you can—”

“No,” Lucifer replies. He smiles, softly. “This isn’t about me.”

Chloe huffs a quiet laugh, even as another tear escapes her eye. “Who are you, and what have you done with my Lucifer?” 

Lucifer’s eyebrows shoot up. _“Your_ Lucifer?” he says. His smug tone makes Chloe almost feel normal again. “I think I like the sound of that.”

Chloe’s cheeks are burning — she didn’t mean to say it like that, it just slipped out — but she likes it, too. 

“Come on,” he says a moment later, lifting her easily and setting her on her feet. “We’d best get back to the precinct before Daniel becomes convinced I kidnapped you.”

Chloe opens her mouth to protest that he wouldn’t do that, but she thinks twice. “You’re right,” she admits, fastening her pants while Lucifer gets to his feet. “We still have a murder to solve, too.”

Lucifer kisses her once more before he heads to his bedroom, picking up his discarded clothes along the way. “So you’re ruling out suicide?” he calls over his shoulder.

Chloe wipes hastily at her face and picks up her phone, tucking it back into her pocket. “I’m not ruling out anything,” she says. Talking shop is safe, familiar — he’s still her partner, and they’re still good at this, no matter what else is going on. “Based on the physical evidence, suicide makes sense, but after our conversation with Tim, I think there are too many other factors to leave it at that.”

“Agreed,” says Lucifer quickly. “Uh, Detective?”

“Yeah?” Chloe answers as she finds her bra and puts it on again. 

“What is this in my closet?”

Chloe’s eyes go wide as she remembers. “I can explain,” she says, grabbing her blouse and hurrying up the steps.

“It looks to be a young women’s bicycle,” Lucifer remarks, as Chloe joins him in his enormous walk-in closet.

“It’s Trixie’s Christmas present,” she says, pulling her shirt on. “She’s gotten too big for hers, and I got a really good deal, but I didn’t have a place to store it at the apartment. Not where she wouldn’t find it, anyway.”

“So you thought you’d risk getting grease all over my suits?” Lucifer asks.

 _Shit,_ Chloe thinks. He’s mad. She should’ve known, she shouldn’t have— shit, shit, shit—

“I’m only joking, Detective,” says Lucifer, breaking her out of her spiral with a hand on her shoulder. “It’s a lovely gift.”

“Oh.” Chloe laughs, too late but genuine nonetheless. “Okay.”

“I’m glad to see you using the space,” he adds. “Dad knows I’m not.”

Chloe nods and buttons her top. She watches with some interest as Lucifer flicks through the shirts hanging on the rack. He chooses one in midnight blue, which he pairs with dark grey pants and jacket. From the rack of pocket squares — which, yes, Chloe laughed at the first time she saw it — he picks a pale blue. She smiles in approval, not that he needs it, but she looks away when he drops his pants and underwear right then and there.

He laughs. “Shy?” he teases.

Chloe clears her throat, takes a peek, and turns away again. “Something like that.”

Lucifer takes a step nearer. “Or maybe you just know what you want,” he murmurs, putting one hand on her waist.

She shivers — his fingers slip up under her blouse, and they’re warm against her sensitive skin — but she leans into his touch. A moment later he’s kissing her again, soft but with an edge. She lays her hands on his hips, and he shifts in her grasp until she’s holding his firm, round ass. He groans softly when she squeezes, and closes the gap between them. His returning erection presses into her side, begging for attention.

A shrill ring interrupts them. Chloe jumps, both at the sound and in reaction to the vibration in her back pocket. 

“Sorry,” she says, digging it out. 

“Who is it?” Lucifer asks, his thumbs rubbing circles into her hips. 

“I don’t recognize the number,” Chloe replies with a frown. 

“Just let it ring,” Lucifer says into her hair. “They can leave a message.”

“Tempting,” Chloe says with a pointed look that makes him roll his eyes, “but no.”

Before he can convince her not to, she accepts the call and raises the phone to her ear. “Decker,” she says, stepping back and ignoring Lucifer’s little sigh of disappointment. 

“Detective Decker, hi,” says a woman’s voice. “It’s Lillian, from this morning? I worked with Roberta.”

“Hi, Lillian,” Chloe says, which attracts Lucifer’s attention. “What’s up?”

“I need to tell you— I, uh. Oh, shit, this is— it’s really bad, Detective.”

“Okay,” Chloe replies slowly. “Just take a breath. Tell me what’s going on.”

“I lied,” Lillian blurts out. She sniffs loudly. “I lied to you before. And I know, I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry, but I was scared. And I need to tell you the truth. Can I meet you somewhere?”

“Uh, sure,” says Chloe, a bit taken aback. “When?”

“Now,” Lillian says. “Please, I’ll come to your precinct right away, okay?”

“Okay,” Chloe replies. She grimaces at Lucifer, who looks puzzled, but he’s doing up his pants at least. “I’ll be there very soon. Tell the desk sergeant you’re there for me, she’ll take care of you, okay?”

Lillian hangs up a second later. “Sorry,” Chloe tells Lucifer, but he waves it off. 

“Don’t fret, Detective,” he says, pulling his suit jacket on over his half-buttoned shirt. “You know how I feel about delayed gratification.”

She chuckles, and he kisses her forehead. “Just let me freshen up, and then we’ll go,” he says. “Two seconds.”

Chloe nods in agreement, and glances around the room after he leaves. His black suit is crumpled on the floor of his closet, so, more out of habit than anything, she grabs a hanger and picks it up. She wonders idly if she has enough dry cleaning to justify a trip to get it done, because now that it’s right next to his others, she can see how dirty it is. She didn’t notice when he was wearing it, but it’s dusty and wrinkled, and one of the pant legs is even beginning to fray at the bottom. 

It’s aged, she thinks, slotting the jacket onto the hanger. This suit is years older than the rest; it’s literally been to Hell and back. She hangs it up, apart from the others to keep them clean, and, on a whim, she tugs on the violet pocket square to straighten it. 

A small cloud of dust showers down, greyish white against the black. 

Chloe winces and wipes the jacket down as best she can, but she has a feeling it’s a losing battle. She steps back to see just how bad it is, and that’s when she notices— the pocket square looks brighter than it was a moment ago. 

With a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure Lucifer’s not on his way back yet, she pulls the purple fabric completely out of the front pocket. She gets a faceful of ash and dust for her trouble. She coughs her way through a mouthful of grit, her nose itches, and she sneezes twice — but she shakes the cloth off anyway. She has to confirm it, she has to know if she’s right.

She’s right: it’s red. Even after all this time, and what it’s been through, it’s still red. 

“Detective? Are you all right?” she hears from down the hall. “I’d say _God bless you,_ but we both know how off-brand that is for me.” 

“Uh huh, I’m fine,” Chloe answers quickly, forcing herself to stop staring at the dirty red cloth. She shoves it in her pocket and meets Lucifer at the bottom of the steps. 

He’s smoothed out his hair, applied a touch of eyeliner and cologne. He looks and smells as good as new. “You ready?” she asks him.

His eyes flick over her, curious, but he nods. “Ready,” he says. 

“Then let’s go,” she tells him, and she heads for the elevator without looking back. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Also, another warning to heed the tags.)

After all that, they don’t end up taking the Corvette.

Lucifer very graciously lets her drive; though he insists on starting the engine without her keys. She’s beginning to get used to it, just like she’s gotten used a lot of the other weird things that come along with having the Devil as a partner and friend. 

_Friend,_ she thinks again, while they wait at a red light. Is that still the right word, now that they’ve...? 

The sex feels like a dream, like she fell asleep five seconds after the elevator opened to the penthouse and woke up when Lucifer found Trixie’s bike in his closet. Everything in between just doesn’t seem real, though her pants are sticking to her and her thighs are a bit sore to prove it. 

If anyone else had just given her a desperate, still-in-her-clothes orgasm, Chloe would probably think it was a good idea to talk about it — to establish boundaries and labels, to decide together what the sex meant, and how their relationship was going to change from here on out. 

But she didn’t have desperate, still-in-her-clothes sex with anyone else. It was Lucifer. That makes everything a hundred times more complicated, and not just because he’s the Devil. He’s also someone she works with, someone who frustrates her and challenges her and brings out the best in her. He’s someone she loves — someone she’s loved for a long time.

And someone who won’t be here tomorrow. 

Is there any point, she wonders, in trying to sort this out? Why bother putting a label on what they are, when she’ll be alone again in — she checks the time — less than eighteen hours?

Lucifer, of course, seems unbothered by what ought to be an important change in their relationship. Chloe doesn’t know what she was expecting from someone who’s had more sex than a herd of rabbits, but he could at least bring it up, so she doesn’t have to do the _We need to talk_ thing. She really doesn’t want to, and yet....

She glances over at him, about to say those four little words that could either open up a line of communication or drop a nuclear bomb onto whatever they are, but she’s distracted by the presence of a smartphone in his hands. 

“Where—?” she starts to ask, but he’s frowning and typing almost too fast for her to track. “What’s wrong?” she asks instead.

“Nothing’s wrong, darling,” Lucifer replies. “Did you teach Amenadiel how to use emojis?”

“No,” Chloe says, too confused to say more.

“Huh,” Lucifer says. “Must have been Maze.”

Chloe finds her voice again. “Have you had that this entire time?”

“What— oh, the phone?” Lucifer finishes typing and tucks it into his pocket. “No, of course not, it was in the penthouse. Earthly electronics don’t work in Hell.”

“Oh,” says Chloe. 

“Too bad, too,” Lucifer goes on. “With all the free time I had after putting down the demon rebellions, maybe I finally could have won Candy Crush.”

“You can’t—” Chloe breaks off from correcting him to laugh, quiet and fond, because it’s kind of adorable. For someone who’s literally been alive for eons, he’s taken surprisingly well to modern technology, but he still says things like this sometimes. It reminds her of her ex-mother-in-law, talking about _El Google._

“Can’t what?” he asks.

“Never mind,” Chloe says. “Can you grab my water bottle? It should be on the floor there. Somewhere.”

She points, spares a quick glance, and sees his face scrunch up in disgust as he reaches down. A moment later, he presses the open bottle into her hand, and she takes a long drink. The water is warm, of course, and slightly metallic-tasting from being in the bottle overnight, but it’s better than the tickle of Hell dirt that’s still in her throat.

“Thanks,” she says, handing it back. “I, uh, I guess we should talk,” she adds. 

“About what?” asks Lucifer, screwing the lid on again. 

Chloe pushes the words out quickly, before she can lose her courage. “About how we had sex.”

Lucifer doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Chloe glances over again. He looks baffled. 

“I just mean,” she tries to explain, “we should talk about it. About what it means. You know, for our partnership.”

“Well, forgive me, Detective, but I think that it means that we wanted to have sex, so we had sex,” Lucifer says slowly. “Unless, you didn’t—”

“No, no, I did,” Chloe assures him. She’s so embarrassed, this is so awkward, she should have just let it go. “I really, really did,” she adds, in case it isn’t clear. “But... are we— is this official, I mean? Are we... doing this?”

“By this, do you mean, are we going to do it again?” Lucifer chuckles. “I certainly hope so, Detective. I am here until tomorrow morning, you know. With my refractory period, that gives us plenty of time.”

“I know,” says Chloe, ignoring that last remark because she is keenly aware of their looming deadline. “I just meant, what’ll we tell people?”

That, she realizes, is her main concern. Knowing Lucifer, he’d walk into the precinct carrying a sign that read, _I MADE DETECTIVE DECKER COME IN HER PANTS._ There’d probably be balloons.

“Well, nothing,” Lucifer answers, like it’s obvious. “Why would we tell them anything?”

“Okay, seriously, who are you?” Chloe says, exasperated. “I figured you’d want to host a parade, or blow a trumpet or something.”

“Trumpets have always been more Gabriel’s thing,” Lucifer replies. “And I’m just me, Detective, you know that. No tricks, no illusions, no lies.”

“I know,” Chloe says again. “I’m just... I don’t know. It’s a lot, you being here, and the sex, and.... I guess it’s just catching up to me.”

“Told you you should’ve let that call go to voicemail,” he says, smug. “You could be napping right now. In my bed. With me.”

“Don’t remind me,” Chloe mutters. “But you know this opportunity is too good to pass up,” she adds after a moment. “I mean, it’s not every day a witness, a possible person of interest in a case, calls us up like that. Normally we have to chase them down.”

“I know,” Lucifer admits with a sigh.

Chloe checks her blind spots, then pulls into the exit lane. They’re minutes away from the station now, they should be strategizing.

“Lillian straight-up admitting she lied like that,” she says, shaking her head, “it doesn’t look good.”

“No,” Lucifer agrees. “Possibly a sign of a guilty conscience, perhaps more.”

“So, what are you thinking? I’ll warm her up, then you hit her with the mojo?”

“I suppose,” Lucifer sighs, with the air of someone accepting a heavy burden. “And to think, I had drafted you a note, to spare you from this tedium.”

“What?” Chloe turns into the parking garage and waves her transponder to lift the bar. Marcel, the security guard, waves as they pass. “What are you talking about?”

“Dear LAPD,” Lucifer says, like he’s reading aloud. “Please excuse Detective Decker from work today and tomorrow. Today, because she has pressing matters to attend to in my bedroom, and tomorrow because she surely won’t be able to sit down.”

Despite her best efforts, a startled laugh escapes Chloe’s lips. “You wouldn’t,” she says. “Do you really think that would work?”

“Given that your captain owes me at least a half-dozen favors,” Lucifer replies, “yes, yes, I think it would work.”

This revelation wipes the smile off her face — what fresh levels of corruption has she just discovered? — but Lucifer notices and hurries to add, “Nothing illegal, I assure you. I’ve just opened a few doors that might otherwise have remained closed to someone in his position.”

“That... doesn’t sound much better,” Chloe says grimly. She scans the lot for an open spot, and pulls in. She reaches for the key to kill the engine before remembering that it’s not there. Lucifer blinks in the direction of the steering wheel, however, and the car shuts off. 

“Would it help if I told you that almost all of them were audition spots?” he asks, handing her her water bottle again while she unbuckles her seatbelt. 

Chloe isn’t sure she heard that right. “What? Auditions?”

Lucifer nods, undoing his own seatbelt. “And the rest were meetings with record executives. Your captain has very large ambitions for his band.”

This takes Chloe’s mind off literally everything else. “No,” she gasps, spinning to face him like a teenager anxious to hear this week’s gossip. “Captain Peterson is in a band? You’re kidding.”

“I am not,” Lucifer says, a smile playing at the edge of his lips. “They’re surprisingly good. For a ska group.”

“Oh my G— someone,” Chloe corrects herself at the last second, which makes Lucifer chuckle again. “Ska? Please tell me their name, _please,_ I need to know.”

Lucifer’s playful eyes dance down and back up. “I think I like it when you beg,” he observes. “Remind me to get you to do that later.”

He takes advantage of her speechless state to kiss her, hard and deep. She closes her eyes, raises a hand to his cheek, but he’s pulling away already, opening the passenger door.

“Come on, Detective,” he sing-songs, climbing out of the car. “Case isn’t going to solve itself, you know.”

Chloe blinks at his empty seat for a moment, then curses under her breath and follows.

* * *

Dan finds her only a few seconds after she walks into the bullpen. If looks could kill, even Lucifer would be dead, but Dan otherwise ignores him, which is the best option, if Chloe had to choose.

“Good, you’re here,” he says. “I just got back from the art market — it was a bust — and Lillian’s waiting for you in Interview 1. But before you go in there, I have to tell you something.”

“Okay,” says Chloe, concerned but curious. “What’s up?”

“I talked to some of the other employees again, and, apparently Lillian and Roberta really didn’t get along,” Dan reports. Chloe nods; this matches with what Tim had told them. “Luke, the owner, said he didn’t schedule them together if he could help it. Apparently, they had a big fight just a couple weeks ago, in front of everyone.”

“Ooh, was there oil involved?” Lucifer asks. “Or mud, perhaps? I’d settle for mud.”

Dan’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away from Chloe. “So why were they closing together the other night?” Chloe asks, as if Lucifer hadn’t spoken.

“I guess one of the other closers called in sick,” Dan replies with a shrug. “Lillian volunteered to take the shift last minute.”

Chloe nods. “That doesn’t give her a lot of lead time if it was premeditated,” she muses.

“No,” Dan agrees, “but if it was a crime of passion, she wouldn’t need lead time.”

“True enough,” Chloe admits.

“One shot to the chest, though, that’s not very passionate, is it?” Lucifer remarks. “Don’t those murders tend to be grisly? Lots of stabbing, and what not?”

“True,” says Chloe again. Dan doesn’t answer. “Does anyone know what the fight was about?” Chloe asks him.

“No,” says Dan, shaking his head. “I figured you’d want to ask Lillian yourself.”

Chloe nods. “Thanks, I will. Did you confirm her alibi with her husband?”

“Not yet,” Dan admits. “He’s an ER nurse at St. Mike’s, and when I called, they said he was won’t be off until 9. I know your shift ends at 8, though, so if you want me to handle it, I can.”

Chloe glances at the same clock that she checked before running off to see Amenadiel earlier. She feels like it’s mocking her, moving faster when she’s not looking: it’s already almost 5. Chloe has four hours until she can follow up with Lillian’s husband. By then, almost half of Lucifer’s time on Earth will be gone. Should she stay late and work the case? Trixie’s with Maze tonight, so she technically could... or should she take him back to the penthouse and savor their night — their only night — together?

She doesn’t know, but she shakes herself back to the present. “Thanks, but I think I got it,” she says, more out of habit than anything. “I’ll let you know, though.”

“Okay,” says Dan agreeably. 

“Did you find anything else?” Chloe asks. “Any shady connections, or someone with a possible motive?”

“No,” Dan replies. “She’s clean, as far as I can tell. Well-liked, too, but...”

“But?” Chloe prompts. 

“But one of the bartenders told me that Roberta was seeing a therapist,” Dan says, in a low voice. “For depression, apparently.”

Chloe grimaces, taking this in. “See if her husband is willing to give you a medical history,” she advises. “Maybe we can track down the doctor, or find out if she was taking antidepressants or anything.”

“Already on it,” Dan tells her. “And Ella’s working on something with Cyber. Not sure what, but she said there’s a preliminary report on your desk.”

“Great,” says Chloe. “Thanks, Dan.”

“Yes, thank you, Daniel,” Lucifer adds, but Dan just walks away. “Well,” Lucifer says, when he’s gone. “He’s rather snippy today, isn’t he?”

“He’s just pissed at you,” Chloe explains as they head to her desk. “He’ll get over it. Probably.”

“What did I do to him?” Lucifer asks. Chloe gives him a flat look, and he raises his hands in surrender. “All right, all right,” he says defensively. “I suppose I deserve it, eating his pudding all those years.”

“Pudding isn’t even half of it,” Chloe mutters, but she loses interest in the topic as she reads the print-out that Ella has left for her. It’s just one page, showing electronic money transfers from Roberta’s bank account to several email addresses over the last two weeks. It seems that, in the lead-up to her death, Roberta had essentially emptied her entire bank account. 

_Cyber’s working on tracking the emails, should have results before morning,_ Ella has written on one of her trademark rainbow-patterned sticky notes. _Possible suicidal behavior?_ she wrote underneath, with a frowny face. 

“Hm,” says Chloe, handing it to Lucifer to get his take on it. 

He skims it, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he sets the paper down again and asks, “Shall we question the liar?”

“Let’s,” Chloe agrees, and she leads the way to where Lillian is waiting.

* * *

Lillian’s eyes track Lucifer’s movements from the second he walks into the room, just like they did this morning at The Corral. She’s powerfully drawn to him, as most women are, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he takes his usual seat at Chloe’s right hand. He’s used to it by now, Chloe presumes, but maybe there’s something else going on. She really wishes they’d taken more time to strategize; it’s too late now.

“Thank you for meeting with me,” Lillian begins.

“You said on the phone that you’d lied to us,” Chloe says, playing hard ball from the get-go. “That could be considered obstruction of justice, Lillian, which is very serious.”

Lillian nods. “I know,” she says. “And I’m sorry, I just— I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” Chloe presses her.

Lillian gulps. Her eyes, still rimmed with their immaculate black liner, well up. “Of Tim,” she answers.

“Why are you afraid of Tim?” Chloe asks quietly.

“He’s scary,” Lillian whispers. “He threatened me, the night Roberta died. I had to kick him out.”

According to Tim, the threat had been nothing but a lie that Lillian told the bouncer to get him ejected, so one of them, Chloe thinks, isn’t telling the truth. She keeps her expression flat, however. 

“You mentioned before that he was controlling?” she prompts.

Lucifer shifts in his seat beside her, a subtle movement that Lillian nevertheless picks up on. Her eyes bounce over to him and back to Chloe three times in the span of just a few seconds, which makes something click together in Chloe’s mind. She doesn’t know how she didn’t see it before.

“Actually, will you excuse us, please?” she asks Lillian politely. She turns to Lucifer and jerks her head towards the door. 

“What’s the matter?” he asks, once they’re outside. “I thought that was going rather well.”

“She’s very distracted by you,” Chloe says. 

Lucifer preens a little, adjusts his cufflinks. “Obviously,” he replies.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “No, what I mean is, she’s talking about how much this man scared her, and here you are, a man, right across the table from her. She can’t take her eyes off you. I thought she was just attracted to you at first, the way women are—”

“Of course,” Lucifer says smoothly.

“—but now? I don’t think so,” Chloe concludes. “I think the reason she downplayed her interaction with Tim this morning was because you were there.”

“Me?” 

“I’ve seen this before with domestic violence and sexual assault.” Chloe tells him. “It’s easier to talk woman-to-woman, so, I think you need to sit this one out.”

Lucifer blinks, and for one second Chloe thinks he’s going to fight her on it, but he doesn’t. He nods and steps back. “As you wish,” he says. “I’ll follow up with Miss Lopez, then, shall I?”

“Sure,” says Chloe. She stops him before he walks away, though, with a hand on his arm. “You know it’s nothing personal, right?” she says quietly. “You know _I’m_ not afraid of you.”

Lucifer assesses her a moment, then nods. “I know, Chloe,” he says. 

Her name in his soft voice is almost enough to make her kiss him, but she holds back. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

He walks away, and Chloe grabs another female detective — Stephanie Alvarez — to take back into the room with Lillian. 

It’s immediately apparent that Lillian is less edgy with just women in the room, and she talks more freely about her concerns regarding Tim. 

“He was always around,” she says, “always badmouthing Roberta to anyone who’d listen. Called her a whore, said he was gonna start pimping her out whenever a male customer got flirty with her. One time a guy actually said yes, and they talked about how much she was worth for, like, half an hour before he backed down.”

“You heard this?” Alvarez asks.

Lillian nods. “With my own two ears. He strikes me as the type who has something to prove,” she goes on. “He’s not very big, you know, not tall? So he wants to be tough. And when I saw him after I left, he was pissed.”

“After you left?” Chloe repeats. “You mean, you saw him again?”

Lillian blinks, then nods. “I saw him driving by,” she says. “When I was on my way home, he passed me in the opposite direction.”

“Heading back to the bar?” Alvarez asks.

“Yeah,” Lillian answers her. “I didn’t realize at first that’s who I saw, but after I got home — and got Gordie to bed, of course — I thought about it some more, and I’m pretty sure that’s who it was. Like I said, he looked so angry.”

A faint alarm bell rings in Chloe’s mind. Something isn’t quite adding up here. “Let’s back up,” she says. “You left The Corral at 2, right?”

“Pretty much,” says Lillian. “Might have been a few minutes after.”

“Okay, and as you were driving home, you saw Tim in his car going the other way.”

“Yes.”

“How did you know it was him?”

Lillian shakes her head, shrugs. “I saw his face,” she says, “when he drove under a street light.”

“Did you recognize his car?” asks Alvarez, and Chloe tries not to react when Lillian jumps all over that. 

“Yes, of course, that too,” she says. “I see his car at The Corral all the time, so yeah, I knew it was him because of that.”

“What time would that have been?” Chloe asks.

“Maybe, quarter after 2?” Lillian guesses. 

Chloe makes a note of that, reminding herself to follow up with the convenience store and property manager, to confirm where Tim was at that time. 

“Luke told us that you and Roberta didn’t work together that often,” she says a moment later, changing gears. “A couple of the other servers mentioned that you had a fight, a few weeks ago. Can you tell me what that was about?”

Lillian looks startled, but she recovers quickly. “It was nothing,” she replies. “Roberta took some of my tips, so I called her on it.”

“How much did she take?” asks Alvarez.

Lillian twitches. For a split-second there’s something behind her expression, but it’s gone too soon for Chloe to make heads or tails of it. 

“You think I killed her?” Lillian asks. Her voice wavers slightly. “Over money?”

“Money can be a powerful motivator for some people,” Alvarez says calmly.

“Not me,” Lillian protests. “I’d never kill somebody over _money,_ God!”

“We’re just considering all the angles,” Chloe soothes her. 

She exchanges a look with her fellow detective, and Alvarez nods. Together, they back down, and Chloe thanks Lillian for bringing this new information forward. Lillian promises to call again if she remembers anything else, and they walk her over the desk sergeant to escort her out.

“Thanks for the back-up in there,” Chloe tells Alvarez as they watch Lillian go. “I really appreciate it.”

“Any time. I’m no nightclub owner, but I get the job done. Minus the googly eyes, of course,” Alvarez replies, which makes Chloe blush and smile. “Not that you’re not a hottie, Decker,” she adds, with a light punch to Chloe’s arm, “but we both know my wife would kick my ass.”

Chloe laughs; Alvarez is a no-nonsense, ex-military lesbian — quite possibly the only woman in the building completely immune to Lucifer’s charms — and she’s refreshing to be around. If Chloe had her choice of partners, she’d choose Alvarez, but Chloe doesn’t have enough good will with the department to make that kind of request. 

“Also,” says Alvarez, “did you see that reaction when I asked about the car?” 

“Yeah,” Chloe nods. “She sure grabbed onto that, didn’t she?”

“Like she was drowning,” Alvarez agrees. She glances over Chloe’s shoulder and steps back. “Just keeping her warm for you, pal,” she says. 

“Now, _that_ is something I’d very much like to see, Detective Alvarez,” Lucifer replies, not missing a beat.

“Not today, Satan,” Alvarez retorts, but it’s harmless. “Catch you later, Decker. Glad you’re back, Morningstar.”

Lucifer grins after her and turns to Chloe. “Well?” he asks. “How did it go?”

Chloe briefs him on the interview, about the details that Lillian added to her account of the night Roberta died, and her suspicious reactions to Alvarez’s question about seeing Tim’s car and the money that Roberta allegedly stole from her. 

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Lucifer says, but before Chloe can ask what the heck that’s supposed to mean, her phone rings in her pocket. “Ugh, not that again,” Lucifer complains.

Chloe pulls her phone out anyway and sees that it’s Trixie. “Hi, monkey,” she greets her. “How was school?”

“It was fine,” comes the predictable, lackluster reply. “Maze said I had to ask _you_ if we can order pizza.” 

Her tone is a challenge; she’s looking for a fight. Chloe curses silently. She knows that it’s not Maze’s place to put her foot down, but she wished it was sometimes.

“Baby, we just had pizza on the weekend,” Chloe replies, pretending she doesn’t hear her daughter’s attitude. “There’s leftover lasagna in the fridge, remember?”

“I don’t want that,” Trixie protests. “We had that yesterday, I want something different.”

Chloe pulls the phone slightly away from her mouth and sighs. “Well, sweetheart, I don’t know what to tell you,” she says, kind but firm. “If you don’t want lasagna, then maybe Maze can make you grilled cheese. Or, if all else fails, you could make yourself a peanut butter sandwich. But no pizza.”

“Mom—” Trixie starts. Chloe braces herself for the anger that’s coming, but Lucifer snatches her phone out of her hand before it can start. 

“What are you doing?” Chloe hisses at him.

“Hello urchin,” he says, ignoring her. The squeal that comes through the speaker is so loud he winces. “Yes, yes, child, enough of that, I am back. For now at least.”

Chloe shakes her head despairingly. She’d been hoping to get through this day without Trixie ever finding out he was here. Does he not know how much worse he’s making it? How much angrier Trixie will be when he disappears again? And how much trouble that’s going to mean for Chloe after he’s gone?

“Now, I want you to listen to your mother and eat yesterday’s lasagna. I’m sure it’s delicious.” He pauses, frowns as he listens. “All right,” he says. His eyes land on Chloe. “Yes, I suppose that sounds reasonable. We have a deal. Now, give the phone to Mazikeen, please, will you?”

“What on earth—?” Chloe starts, but she knows she isn’t going to get an answer. 

“Can you handle that?” Lucifer asks Maze, then he rolls his eyes. “Yes, of course I know you’re the most powerful of the Lilim, that wasn’t what I— all right, fine. _Fine._ Yes, goodbye.”

He hangs up then and gives Chloe’s phone back. “She’s going to eat the lasagna,” he reports, “but only if we eat with her. So I’ve arranged for a little picnic on the roof in thirty minutes. Maze will bring your spawn and the food.”

“What— Lucifer!” Chloe shouts at his back when he walks away. “Where are you going?”

“To get _our_ supper, of course,” he replies, spinning around. “There’s not enough lasagna for all of us. And the urchin talked me into chocolate cake, too, the crafty little— well, me,” he concludes with a chuckle. “Mind if I borrow your car?”

He turns back without waiting for a response, leaving her sputtering in his wake, as always.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't forget to heed those tags, friends!

While awaiting Lucifer’s return — and Maze and Trixie’s arrival — Chloe tries to chase down some alibis, but she doesn’t have much luck. 

Tim’s property manager tells her that the cameras in his building’s lobby are just for show; they haven’t worked since 2003, so she can’t actually confirm what time Tim got home. The convenience store he went to after Lillian kicked him out of The Corral is also a bust; the owner was working that night, but when she emails him a picture of Tim he says that he looks like any number of their customers. He promises to send her CCTV footage when he has a minute, but Chloe isn’t going to hold her breath.

Tim’s receipt, however, does show that he was at the store at 2:14AM, and the location — about halfway between The Corral and Tim’s apartment — makes it pretty unlikely that Lillian saw him driving back to the bar at a quarter past two. So, she’s either wrong about the timing, or she saw someone else. Chloe wishes she could talk to Lillian’s husband about what time she got home, but that, of course, won’t be possible for another few hours. 

Meanwhile, Roberta’s husband has come through, calling Dan with an update about his late wife’s medical history. He faxes over a record of prescriptions from their health insurance company, and there are no antidepressants — no psychotropic drugs at all, for that matter — on the list.

That doesn’t really mean anything, of course; plenty of people with no history of counselling or medication take their own lives, sadly. But Chloe still can’t commit to calling Roberta Sutton’s death a suicide yet. She’d like to spend a little more time ruling out the two people that she’s begun to think of as suspects, because, if Roberta _was_ murdered, she wants to make sure that someone is held accountable. 

Her two suspects, of course, are Tim and Lillian. She reviews her notes from interviewing both of them. She can’t determine which of them seems more guilty at this point, but Tim — who very clearly isn’t a good guy — has one point in his favor: Lucifer thought he was telling the truth, and Lucifer is rarely, if ever, wrong about that. Chloe wishes that he’d been able to interview Lillian in more depth, but she also has a feeling that she wouldn’t have gotten as much from Lillian if Lucifer had been in the room. 

Dan walks by, whistling to himself, apparently in a much better mood now that Lucifer’s gone. Chloe watches him go to the printer, collect the papers that the machine has just spit out, and spin around to come back. He catches her eyes on him and smiles. Chloe smiles back and waves him over.

“What’s up, Chlo?” he asks.

“How did it go at that market this afternoon, where Roberta was supposed to sell her art? You said it was a bust, but, sorry, I forgot to ask you about it,” Chloe explains.

“Oh yeah,” says Dan, like he forgot too. “It was a waste of time. Nobody there knew Roberta, since she’d never had a table there before. Her husband was the one who booked the stall for her, so he went with me, but he didn’t know anybody either, except for the guy in charge.”

“Such a shame,” Chloe says quietly, thinking again of Roberta’s notebook full of half-finished art. 

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. They’re silent for a moment, then Dan adds, “Seems like a no-brainer that this is a suicide.”

Chloe scowls, about to protest, but he fends her off with a raised hand. “But I don’t think it is.”

“Yeah? Why not?” Chloe asks, leaning back in her chair. She agrees with him, but she wants to hear his reasoning.

“Well, for one thing,” Dan begins, perching on the edge of her desk, “why would she kill herself at work? It’s not really a common place to do it.”

“Good point,” says Chloe. “But maybe she didn’t want to make things any harder on her husband.”

“Okay,” Dan says, granting her that. “But if that’s the case — if she came to work that night prepared to shoot herself — why would she wait until the end of the night?”

“It was the only time she was alone,” Chloe replies immediately.

“Slow down there, Devil’s advocate,” says Dan, which makes Chloe burst out laughing.

Dan grins, too, and waits for her to settle before he goes on. “What I meant was, why would she wait until she had the place completely spotless to do it? If she went there with the intention of killing herself, why bother cleaning at all?”

It’s a sobering thought. Chloe closes her eyes briefly, pictures the crime scene, how neat and tidy it was, except for the closet where they found the body. She remembers what Lillian told her about Roberta’s closing habits, how she was nit-picky about making sure the place was clean before she left. 

“I don’t know,” Chloe has to admit after a moment. “I mean, she didn’t leave a note, so—”

“That’s another thing,” Dan interrupts. “Roberta had journals at home, according to her husband. She drew in notebooks, but she also wrote. Now, he’s not letting us read them, and I don’t hold that against him, but he said he didn’t find a note, or anything even resembling one.”

Chloe frowns. That nagging feeling — the one that got lost between Tim’s apartment, Maze’s warning, and clothed sex in Lucifer’s penthouse — has come back with a vengeance. Dan starts to say something else, but Chloe holds up a hand to stop him. She’s so close to it, she just needs to think—

“The journals,” she says finally. “The journals!”

Dan is staring like she’s grown a second head. “What?”

“There was a case you worked a few years ago,” Chloe says. It feels like weeks since she first had this thought this morning and went up to the archives to look into it. “It was a woman who got shot in the head, but survived, do you remember?”

“Yeah,” says Dan, leaning towards her excitedly. “Yeah, I was the sure the husband did it, but we didn’t have enough evidence, and so they said it was attempted suicide.”

“Right,” Chloe says. “Well, the husband’s alibi was that he was drinking at The Corral.”

“It was?”

Chloe nods. “He says his wife called him, threatening to kill herself, and he drove across town, but he was too late.”

“I remember now,” says Dan. “That was flimsy as fuck.”

“It was,” Chloe agrees quickly. “And the victim was found in her closet, remember? And with her, she had—”

“Journals,” Dan concludes. “That’s right, she was upset because her husband was cheating on her.” 

“Right,” Chloe says again, excited, but after a moment’s thought, Dan shakes his head with a slight grimace.

“I can see the similarities, Chlo, but I don’t know if they’re actually connected. I mean, it’s a coincidence, right?”

Chloe thinks for a moment. She never did get a good look at the archived case file this morning, being interrupted and all, and anything that she did read has now been driven out of her head by the insane day she’s had. 

“Probably,” she admits, but her intuition is jangling again, vying for her attention. “I think we should look into it anyway, just in case.”

Dan nods. “All right, you got it,” he says, pushing himself off her desk. “I’ll pop up to the archives and get the file for you.”

Chloe remembers the condition in which she left the file — messy, probably in the wrong place, half the papers falling out — and winces. “You better let me do that,” she tells him. She thinks for another moment, then says, “I could use your help with something else though.”

“Okay, sure, what’s up?”

She quickly explains how Lillian claimed to see Tim’s car, but only after Alvarez suggested it. “I don’t want to say I don’t believe her, because Tim is definitely a piece of shit, and I buy that Lillian might be scared of him, but....”

“But it is kinda fishy,” Dan agrees, much to Chloe’s relief. “So what can I do?”

“Well, you haven’t talked to her yourself yet, right?” 

“Right,” Dan confirms. 

“So, I’m thinking you could call her, and say that we forgot to ask her some questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

“Just— things about Roberta, like, did she ever talk about harming herself.” Chloe pauses, bites her lip before continuing. “I think maybe we should let her think that we’re considering the possibility that Roberta killed herself.”

Chloe feels slimy even suggesting it, and Dan seems to sense her discomfort. He shifts his weight and looks away. All the easy camaraderie they’d had a moment ago has disappeared, and Chloe misses it badly.

“That’s not exactly aboveboard,” Dan says cautiously. 

“I know,” Chloe says, trying to explain. “I’m not saying you have to lie to her or anything. I just... need to test a theory. She’s already lied to me once. And you yourself said the connection to Tim’s car was kind of convenient. So if she talks to a third party, who doesn’t know that she’s lied already—” 

“You think she might do it again,” Dan finishes. 

Chloe nods. “Just— if she jumps in with a bunch of information after you tell her that we think it might be suicide, then I’ll know that it’s a pattern, that she’s changing her story to tell us what she thinks we want to hear.”

Dan stares at her for another few seconds. Chloe holds his gaze, though it’s difficult. Finally, he sighs. “You know how I said one of the waitresses told me Roberta was in therapy?”

“Yeah?”

“Another one said that that was just a rumor, and she couldn’t confirm it, but she thought maybe Lillian started it.”

Chloe nods, slotting this new piece into the puzzle. Lillian could be the killer, blaming whoever she thinks is the most prominent suspect at the moment... or she could just be a busybody, a nosy coworker who loves to create drama — one of those people who get a thrill out of giving the police fake tips.

“I’ll think about it,” Dan says, drawing her out of her thoughts. “But, to be clear, I don’t like that you asked. That you’re considering something so unethical.”

Chloe scoffs, offended, and speaks before she thinks. “That’s rich, coming from you. You practically invented looking the other way.”

Dan clenches his jaw. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done,” he says in a low voice, “but I’m trying. And you...”

“Me, what?” says Chloe when he trails off. He shakes his head, but Chloe doesn’t back down. “Come on, say it. What about me?”

“You’re supposed to be better than this,” Dan concludes. “Better than me. Better than— well.”

“Lucifer?” Chloe guesses.

“Yeah, actually,” Dan says. “This sideways manipulation, not-technically-breaking-the-rules thing? It sounds exactly like the kinda thing he’d do, and I don’t— I don’t want that for you.”

“Well, you don’t get to have a say in what I want,” Chloe reminds him, probably a little snippier than she intended.

He sighs, opens his mouth like he’s going to keep arguing, but eventually just shakes his head and goes back to his desk.

Chloe stares after him, regretting the argument, wishing they could go back to bouncing ideas off each other, but it’s too late. She can’t. She gets to her feet and heads for the elevator. 

“Back again?” Juan asks her when she reaches the archives. It’s obviously the end of his shift, he’s packing up his bag.

“Yeah, I’ll just be a minute, I missed a couple things,” she tells him. “File Cabinet N, right?”

“That’s the one,” Juan confirms, sending her off with a jaunty wave. 

It’s weird, being back in this room, with its stuffy recycled air and the musty scent of old paper. She finds the correct aisle, the correct file cabinet, but spends a moment staring out the large window. 

Eight hours, almost, since Lucifer arrived in this room — in defiance of the laws of physics, since she can see now that these windows definitely do not open. Eight hours since his day on Earth began, and she’s still no closer to understanding how or why he’s here.

Eight hours. A third of a day. For all her excitement about this possible new lead, for all her frustration with Dan downstairs a few minutes ago, Chloe feels tired now. More tired than she’s felt in a while. She thinks about how long twenty-four hours really are. For the first time, she sees the time stretched out before her. With the way things are going, she isn’t sure she’s gonna make it to the finish line. 

Or maybe her blood sugar is just crashing. She shakes herself out of her daze and starts hunting down the file. 

* * *

She returns from the archives just in time to see Lucifer breeze back into the bullpen, carrying a large insulated take-out bag — 42 minutes since he spoke to Trixie on the phone and promised her a picnic in half an hour. Damn Devil couldn’t be on time if the world depended on it. 

She has a sudden image of Lucifer as a teenager, asking his Dad — God — for five more minutes before he had to get out of bed, and it pulls a borderline-hysterical laugh out of her throat that makes a passing patrol officer do a double take. 

She turns it into a cough — sort of — and starts to cross the bullpen to see what her partner is up to.

“Daniel,” he says as he passes Dan’s desk under the stairs. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

Dan narrows his eyes at the bag. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch, I assure you,” says Lucifer, but when Dan still doesn’t accept the invite, he exhales a frustrated breath. “Oh, very well, don’t trust me. But if you get hungry you’ll be welcome. Plenty to go around.”

“What did you get?” Chloe asks, but he doesn’t answer.

“Come along, darling,” he just says, as he passes her on the way to Ella’s lab. 

Ella apparently doesn’t need much convincing, because she follows him out less than a minute later, doing what she calls her free food dance. Chloe chuckles, watching them head to the stairs. She starts to follow, but she’s distracted by Maze and Trixie’s arrival.

“Daddy,” Trixie calls, running over to his desk. She doesn’t even look in Chloe’s direction.

“Hi sweetie,” says Dan, getting to his feet to give Trixie a hug. Maze stands behind her like a bodyguard, but she’s holding a Tupperware full of lasagna instead of her usual weaponry. “What are you guys doing here?” Dan asks. 

“Mom said I couldn’t order pizza, but Lucifer made me a deal,” Trixie explains. 

Dan looks up, glaring at Chloe. “He did, did he?” 

_Great, now I’m the bad guy to both of them,_ Chloe thinks. _Thanks, Satan._

“We’re gonna have dinner on the roof!” Trixie explains excitedly.

Chloe makes her way across the room and reaches down to ruffle Trixie’s hair. Or tries to— Trixie dodges her. “Hey, monkey,” Chloe says anyway.

“Where’s Lucifer?” Trixie asks Dan, as if she didn’t hear her mother’s greeting.

Chloe shoves the hurt down deep in her chest and answers. “He’s waiting for you up on the roof,” she says. “Go ahead, honey, Maze can show you the way.”

“Up here, tiny human,” says Maze, ushering Trixie ahead of her towards the stairs. 

Chloe nods her thanks when Maze looks back. Trixie doesn’t turn around again.

Dan watches them go, then jerks his head towards the interview room, the same place where Chloe was questioning Lillian earlier. 

“Talk to you a minute?” he says, his voice thin and brittle like hollow ice.

“Yeah,” Chloe sighs. She can guess what this is about, but follows him in anyway. 

The instant the door closes behind them, Dan turns on her. 

“You know how I feel about Lucifer being involved in our daughter’s life,” he begins, “so I’m not gonna bore you with the details again, but—”

“Dan, I—”

“No,” he cuts her off. He’d been annoyed with her earlier, but now, he’s angry like she’s rarely seen him. His face is red, his eyes cold and hard. “Chloe, she needs stability. You know this. You can’t let him do this to her. You can’t just let him walk into and out of her life whenever he feels like it.”

“I know,” Chloe tries again, “but—”

“I thought maybe, _maybe_ when he left you, you’d found some sense,” Dan goes on, like she didn’t speak. “And it was hard for Trixie, but she was dealing. Then he just waltzes in here and undoes everything we’ve worked on for the last few months. What’s gonna happen when he decides to take off again, huh? Did you even think—”

Chloe’s anger peaks suddenly. “That is _all_ I’m thinking about!” 

Hot tears are in her eyes, but she will not let them fall, she won’t give him the satisfaction. Dan is silent, blinking in surprise like she’s hit him, and honest to— _someone,_ she’s tempted to. 

“How dare you?” she goes on, furious. “You think this is easy for me? You think I like seeing her upset?”

“Then why did you take him back, Chloe?” Dan asks, quieter but no less intense. 

“I— I—” Chloe can’t even begin to explain, and even if she did, there would be no way — in Hell or out of it — that he would believe her. 

“I didn’t take him back,” she manages to say after a moment. Her voice breaks, but she pushes through it. “He was given to me.”

Dan shakes his head, baffled. “What does that mean?”

“It means it’s his last day here!” Chloe shouts. “It means that after this, he’s _not_ coming back. This is— it’s just a day. This is all I get,” she concludes through gritted teeth. The tears are out in force now, there’s no stopping them. “This is— a goodbye.”

She breaks down then, because, it’s one thing to know it, and it’s another to hear it out loud. _It’s not fair,_ she wants to scream. _It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair!_

But she doesn’t. She’s exhausted, strung out on emotion. She collapses into a chair and sobs, burying her face in her hands, unable to bear Dan’s eyes on her.

“Chloe, I—” he says after letting her cry for a moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Chloe wipes at her eyes, trying to regain some semblance of control. “I know,” she says. “And you have to believe me, I didn’t want Trixie to know that he was here. I knew how much it would hurt— her,” she chokes. 

“But Lucifer had a different plan,” Dan mutters. “Like always.”

A strangled laugh escapes Chloe’s throat. “Like Father, like son,” she mutters. 

She sniffs, tilts her head back like she can put the tears back where they came from. And if she can glare a little at the ceiling while she’s at it, then that’s just a bonus.

“You know he’s crazy, right?” Dan says softly. “Babe, you know it’s for the best if he leaves.”

Dan hasn’t called her _babe_ in years, and it makes her smile faintly, thinking of better times. 

“He’s not crazy,” she says. “Not in the way you think.” She draws in a shaky breath. “And if I can find a way, I want him to stay. I need him.”

“No, you don’t,” Dan starts to say, but Chloe shakes her head. 

“I love him,” she says. It’s a plain fact. Irrefutable. Water is wet, fire is hot, and Chloe Decker loves Lucifer Morningstar. 

“I love him,” she repeats, and the tears start up all over again. Her sobs fill the silent room as Dan stares down at her in disbelief and helplessness. 

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do without him, Dan,” Chloe confesses. Quietly. Brokenly. 

Dan exhales, then slowly sits down beside her. He puts his arms around her and holds her.

“I’m really sorry,” he says. He doesn’t let go. 

Chloe doesn’t have anything more to say, doesn’t have anything left in her. She just hangs onto him and weeps.


	8. Chapter 8

Chloe doesn’t know how much time passes before the tears slow down, and she starts to come back to herself. Her mother always said she was too practical to fall apart for long, and damned if it isn’t the truth.

Dan is rubbing her back in a slow, comforting motion. She sniffs, looks up, and finds him trying to smile at her. She tries to smile back.

Before either of them can speak, they’re startled by a loud knock. They break apart, and Chloe runs her hands over her face. Her skin feels warm and tender. Dan stands, straightens his clothes, and goes to the door.

Chloe doesn’t thank God that it isn’t Lucifer, but she comes close.

“Sorry, Detectives,” says the uniformed officer. “I’ve got a gentleman here, says he wants to talk to someone about the Roberta Sutton case?”

“Right,” says Dan with a nod. “We’ll handle it, thanks.”

He glances over his shoulder at Chloe for confirmation as the officer walks away. “It’s fine,” Chloe says. She glances at the clock — thankfully, less than half an hour has passed since Trixie went upstairs. “I should get up to the roof anyway.”

“You sure?” Dan asks, concerned. “You want me to come with you?”

“I’ll be okay,” Chloe replies, trying and probably failing to inject confidence into her tone. “Let me know if you need help with the witness,” she says while they exit the interview room. 

“Okay,” Dan agrees, but he reaches out, grabs Chloe’s hand before she can turn away. He squeezes. “It’s gonna be all right,” he tells her. “You’ve survived worse, Chloe. You’re the strongest person I know, and you’re gonna get through this.”

Chloe feels her eyes start to water again, but she pushes it back. “Thank you,” she says, soft and serious.

“Yeah,” Dan murmurs. He lets her go, and Chloe takes a deep breath before heading for the stairs. 

About halfway to the roof, she realizes she probably should have ducked into the bathroom and washed her face — she imagines her eyes are still puffy and red. 

She reaches into her pocket, because there’s a lump there that she thinks is a tissue. She pulls it out and instead finds Lucifer’s red pocket square in her hand. She’d forgotten she had it.

She pauses on the stairs to turn it over in her hands, examining the places where the color is darker and lighter — the upper edges, where dirt and ash have been ingrained into the material, and the lower corners, which look almost as fresh and vibrant as they were the day he went to Hell.

 _Hell._ She thinks back to those long-ago Sunday School days, and the more recent encounters she’s had with people of faith. She remembers a funeral she attended once. The deceased, a friend of her mother’s, had died suddenly in a car crash. He hadn’t been religious, but his daughter was, and given that she arranged the service, the minister was hers. Chloe remembers the awkward silence that fell in the sanctuary when it became apparent that instead of giving a eulogy, the minister was going to spend the next 20 minutes telling the guests that they had better hurry up and get saved, _lest the Lord take them quickly the way He did this poor man._

Chloe remembers being horrified — she is still horrified — that a man supposedly of God would offer fear instead of comfort at a funeral, and threaten a group of mourners with Hell. She remembers, for some reason, the exact turn of phrase he used to describe it: _Hell is the total and complete absence of love._

To this day, she has no idea what that means. It’s a poetic but abstract threat — not to mention ineffective. Chloe didn’t rush to church the next day to accept Jesus, or whatever it was the preacher wanted her to do, and she has no plans to do so any time soon. She’s not afraid of Hell.

She stops, blinks, runs that thought back. It’s true. She is not afraid of Hell. Even now, even knowing with certainty that it’s real — she has literal, tangible proof in her hands — she’s not afraid. Is that normal, she wonders. Should she ask someone about that? 

There’s no doubt that she had been afraid of Lucifer for a time, afraid of his terrifying face and glowing eyes. She’d been afraid of what his presence here was doing to humanity, how it threatened the world and the people she loved. But, as vulnerable as she’d been to Father Kinley’s ramblings, she never once feared Hell itself. In fact—

She raises the square of red fabric to her face, sniffs. It smells like wood smoke, and something almost chemical. She wonders if it’s brimstone — isn’t that what Hell is made of, fire and brimstone? She has no idea what brimstone smells like. 

But, whatever it is, it’s overlaid with the familiar, alluring scent that she associates with Lucifer. She buries her nose in the cloth. Breathes deep, closes her eyes. Maybe this is why she’s not afraid — Hell is just where Lucifer is, and anywhere Lucifer is can’t be that bad... can it? 

_The mind can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven,_ she thinks suddenly, but she doesn’t know why or where the thought comes from.

The clatter of a door on a higher landing shakes Chloe out of her head. She pushes the red fabric back into her pocket and takes a step up, but stops again when a familiar pair of voices filter down to her. 

“I don’t care what you want, urchin, she is your mother, and you’re not having your dessert without her,” Lucifer says. “Bad enough you ate your lasagna, though I suppose it’s no good cold, is it?”

“But she’s mad at me,” Trixie whines in reply. 

“Then you’d do well to give her sweets,” Lucifer answers. “That’s what I do when she’s mad at me. And besides which, she’s not angry with you, it’s just the situation. You mustn’t be so hard on her, all right?”

“All right,” says Trixie. “I’m sorry.”

“Good,” says Lucifer. “You know, I can’t always come running like this and answer all your prayers.” 

Chloe freezes. Literally, it feels as if her blood has run cold. That sounds like— does Trixie _know?_

“Frankly,” Lucifer goes on, “I’m surprised Dad’s patience has lasted this long, what with my constant pestering on your behalf.”

Wait— is _that_ why Lucifer’s here? Did he make a deal with his Father, whom he hates — a deal with endless potential for manipulation and exploitation — for _Trixie?_ Because Trixie asked — because Trixie prayed to the Devil — for something?

Chloe can’t breathe. Can’t move. Can’t think. But she has to; the footsteps are getting nearer. They can’t know that she was listening, but she can’t turn invisible, either — they’re going to see her in a minute. 

“I just miss you is all,” sighs Trixie.

 _Move, Decker!_ Chloe orders herself, forcing her legs into motion. She hurries silently down to the nearest landing. Thank someone the door is unlocked. Chloe opens it, and lets it bang shut. Then she starts climbing again, making far more noise than usual.

“I know, child— oh, I think I hear her now,” says Lucifer. “Is that you, Detective?” he calls down the stairs.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Chloe replies. She’s proud of how steady her voice sounds. No one would ever know that her world has just been shaken to its very core. Again.

“Sorry, I got caught up in a few things,” she explains when she reaches them, slightly out of breath from rushing up the stairs. “A new witness came forward.”

Lucifer and Trixie are looking at her strangely. “Anything we need to handle right away?” Lucifer asks.

Chloe shakes her head. “Dan’s talking to him now. He’ll let me know.”

Lucifer nods. “Mommy, you have something on your nose,” Trixie says.

Chloe’s hands fly up, embarrassed to think that they can see the evidence of her meltdown downstairs, but Lucifer takes the pale blue pocket square out of his suit and steps closer. 

“Allow me,” he says. He wipes at the tip of her nose, and the tops of her cheekbones, down to the edges of her mouth. “What did you do, clean a chimney with your face?” he asks, teasing but gentle.

The ash, she thinks, on the red pocket square she stole from his Hell suit and then buried her nose in. _Oops._

“Something like that,” she replies. 

He peers more closely at her. She would say that he’s looking into her eyes, but it’s more like he’s looking _at_ her eyes. She watches him notice the way they must still be red-rimmed, puffier than usual. She also watches him choose not to say anything about it — though whether that’s for his sake, hers, or Trixie’s, she’ll never know. 

“Thanks,” she tells him softly, for more than just this. He nods, steps back.

“We were just coming to get you,” Trixie says. She’s looking at Chloe now, and smiling tentatively. “For cake.”

“And real dinner,” Lucifer puts in. “I promise I fed your spawn more than just sugar.”

“Your lasagna is even better on day two, Mom,” Trixie adds, a little sheepishly.

Chloe feels a wide smile break out over her face. She’s dangerously close to tears again, and when Trixie runs forward to hug her around the knees, she crouches and buries her face in Trixie’s hair, so neither of them will see. 

“Thanks for eating it, monkey,” she says softly. She kisses the top of Trixie’s head. “I love you,” she adds. 

“Love you, too,” Trixie says, and she pulls away. “Cake time?” she asks. “You know I have piano at 7:30.”

“Sh— oot,” Chloe redirects with a glance at her watch. It’s almost 7 already; she completely forgot about Trixie’s lesson. “Okay, let’s have some cake, and then Maze’ll drive you.”

Trixie dashes up the stairs at once, with Lucifer and Chloe trailing a few steps behind. “Piano?” Lucifer asks.

“It’s new,” Chloe explains. She hesitates, then adds, “Since you left.”

“Ah,” says Lucifer. 

“He’s a bad actor,” says Trixie suddenly. Chloe looks up, startled, to find her on the landing above them, looking down with her hands on her hips. “I told him a month ago,” she adds, with some serious pre-teen know-it-all sass.

If Chloe hadn’t heard what she’d heard a minute ago, she might have missed the little look that passed between her partner and her daughter. 

“In a letter,” Trixie lies, starting to climb again. “I didn’t know where to mail it, so I gave it to Amenadiel.”

“Oh,” says Chloe, indulging her fib, because it’s mostly harmless, and also because she doesn’t know how to deal with the truth. “Okay.”

“I wasn’t acting, spawn,” says Lucifer huffily. “I was just leading your mother gently to what I really wanted to ask her.”

Chloe’s eyes narrow. “Which is...?” 

They reach the top landing. Lucifer opens the door to the roof, then gestures for them to go ahead. He falls into step behind Chloe, while Trixie heads over to Maze and Ella. 

“Which is,” Lucifer repeats, “would you protest to my buying Beatrice a piano?” 

Chloe whirls to face him. “Yes,” she says firmly. 

Lucifer blinks. “Is that a yes to the piano, or a yes to the protest?” 

“Yes to the protest,” Chloe replies, annoyed that she even has to spell it out. How can he do this to her, push all these buttons at once? One minute she’s agonizing over his celestial drama, and the next it’s something mundane, all too human. No wonder she’s exhausted. 

“She’s only had a few lessons, Lucifer,” Chloe goes on. “You have to give her at least six months. If she still likes it, then maybe—”

“Excellent,” says Lucifer, as if it’s settled.

 _“Maybe,”_ Chloe continues, overriding him, “I’ll get her a keyboard so she can practice at home between lessons.”

Lucifer looks deeply offended. “A _keyboard?”_ he repeats, aghast.

Chloe rolls her eyes, not giving in to his dramatics. She turns away, to where Maze, Ella, and Trixie are waiting on a red blanket with a decadent-looking chocolate cake between them. There’s also an empty space with a closed Styrofoam take-out container. Her name is written on it in permanent marker.

“Want dessert first, Chloe?” Ella asks, offering her the first slice of cake on a paper plate.

Chloe is about to refuse, but she changes her mind. “With the day I’m having,” she says, “why the _hell_ not?”

They all laugh at that, Trixie the hardest — probably because Chloe never swears around her, but also... 

She watches Trixie watch Maze twirl the knife before she slices into the cake again. She watches Lucifer snatch the slice away from Trixie, only to give it back when Maze smacks his arm. She watches Trixie giggle when he purposefully smears Maze’s nose with icing in retaliation. 

If Trixie knows the truth about Lucifer, and Maze, and Hell — all of it — and she’s not afraid, why should Chloe be? After all, some of their best friends are from Hell.

Ella throws her head back and laughs at something Lucifer says, and, not for the first time, Chloe notices that Ella is wearing her silver cross again. She’s never really talked about what changed — and Chloe has been too wrapped up in her own grief to bring it up — but obviously something did, if she found her faith again. 

Chloe wonders how she’d react, if she learned it was all true — that God is real, and so is the Devil. She wonders if Ella is afraid of Hell. She wonders if she should ask. 

“Isn’t that right, Decker?” Maze says, snapping Chloe out of her reverie.

“Uh,” says Chloe. She has no idea what she’s agreeing to, and with Maze, that’s a dangerous situation to be in. She glances to Lucifer for back-up, and he nods like everything’s fine.

“No,” she says, because he’s even worse. 

Ella laughs out loud again. “We almost had her,” she says to Trixie, who’s still got three-quarters of her cake on her plate. Chloe must not have zoned out too long at least.

“Do I even want to know?” Chloe asks.

“No,” says Maze.

“Tell you later,” says Lucifer, nudging her leg with his own. 

“Okay,” Chloe says, deciding to let it lie. “Eat up, Trix, it’s almost time for your lesson.”

“Don’t worry, Decker, I’ll get her there on time,” says Maze. 

“Safely, I hope,” Chloe insists.

Maze shrugs. “We got seatbelts.”

That isn’t very reassuring, but Maze starts walking Ella through a complicated knife trick, and Trixie’s stuffing her face with cake, while Lucifer’s demonstrating some finger stretches for her to try, so it isn’t all bad, either.

* * *

When she’s done her cake, Trixie gives Lucifer a very tight hug and asks when she’ll see him again. Chloe looks away because it hurts too much, and doesn’t hear his reply. 

Trixie hugs Chloe, too, and waves before she goes. That, more than anything else, soothes some of the anxious energy that’s been in her chest since — well, since Lucifer showed up at ten o’clock this morning.

Minutes after they leave, Ella stands up. “I should go, too,” she says. “You need help cleaning this up?”

“Not at all,” Lucifer says. “Though if you wouldn’t mind taking that box down to Daniel, I’m sure he’d appreciate it.”

“Oh, sure thing,” Ella says, grabbing the Styrofoam container. She glances at Chloe over Lucifer’s head. “Look at this guy. What a prince, huh?”

“Royalty,” Chloe agrees, and Lucifer quirks his eyebrows, pleased.

“I’ll drop this off on my way to check in with the Cyber guys,” Ella goes on. “I’ll let you know if they managed to track those payments yet, Chlo.” 

It takes Chloe a second to remember what she’s talking about — the drama of Lucifer and Dan and Trixie has overtaken her concern about the case — but she nods. Then she realizes how late it is. Ella should have clocked out over an hour ago.

“Ella, Cyber can wait till morning,” she tells her. “You should go home, we’ve already kept you late.”

Ella waves a hand around their picnic spread. “Because this is such hard work?” she laughs. “It’s fine, I’ve got a couple things to finish up anyway. If I don’t do them now, I’ll be thinking about them all night.”

“Fair enough,” says Chloe. She understands that feeling all too well. 

“Thanks for dinner, Lu,” Ella adds, clapping him on the shoulder on the way by.

Lucifer’s mouth twitches at the nickname like it’s an inside joke, and suddenly Chloe remembers something he said much earlier, when he appeared in Amenadiel and Linda’s living room. She gasps involuntarily, prompting both Lucifer and Ella to turn in her direction. 

“Sorry, nothing,” she says before they can ask. She fumbles for an explanation. “I just realized that... I think I left my straightening iron on. This morning. Before I left for work.” 

“Oh damn,” says Ella. “You think it’s okay?”

“Well, uh,” Chloe stammers, ignoring the way that Lucifer is giving her a look that he usually reserves for lying suspects. “The fire department hasn’t called about my building burning down, so yeah, it’s probably fine.”

“You should get one of those ones with the auto shut-off,” Ella recommends, but then she gasps, too. “I have an extra one! It was my roommate’s, but she moved out, so it’s mine now. I’ll bring it for you tomorrow. Text me in the morning so I don’t forget.”

“Okay, I will,” says Chloe, pretending to sound grateful; her straightener already does shut off on its own, but she’s in too deep to back out now. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” Ella replies brightly, heading for the roof access door. “What are friends for?”

The silence that falls after she’s gone feels very thick. There are so many questions and concerns rolling around Chloe’s insides that she feels almost sick — eating a full piece of chocolate cake and only a few bites of the eggplant parmesan Lucifer brought her probably didn’t help, either. 

Finally, Lucifer says, in a voice dripping with disbelief, “Straightening iron? That’s the best you could come up with?”

Chloe huffs out a laugh that’s equal parts surprise and relief. “I’ve been under a lot of stress today,” she says. She can’t quite look at him when she adds, “In case you haven’t noticed.”

He shifts closer to her on the blanket, reaches out and nudges her chin up. “I’ve noticed,” he says, his eyes on hers.

She waits for him to kiss her, or make a joke about relieving her stress, or ask about the case — anything to break this weird tension that has crept between them. But he doesn’t, and after a moment, he lets go. 

Chloe swallows hard, draws in a breath. “Ella’s ghost is your sister?” she says. 

He looks up, surprised. Chloe’s surprised, too — that isn’t what she wanted to ask, but it is the least fraught question on her mind, so she assumes her subconscious chose it for her.

“Azrael, the Angel of Death,” Lucifer says seriously, then he shrugs. “Or, as Miss Lopez and I call her, Rae-Rae.”

“That’s pretty adorable,” Chloe says. Her eyes are on his hands for some reason, focused on the black gem of the ring he always wears. “Little sister, I presume?”

“Indeed,” he answers. “Detective—”

“Does she know?” Chloe asks, before he can finish. 

“Who?”

“Ella,” says Chloe. _Trixie,_ she almost adds.

“Not unless Azrael showed her something to convince her,” says Lucifer. “Which I highly doubt she would.”

“And you’re not going to.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” Lucifer admits. “What’s this really about, Detective?”

Chloe pauses. There are so many ways she could answer that question. “Dan and I had a fight,” she says finally. “That’s why I was late coming up here.”

“What about?” asks Lucifer.

“You,” Chloe says, but then she adds, “Trixie. You... and Trixie.”

Lucifer nods, his expression unreadable. Chloe waits to see if he’s going to volunteer anything, but of course he doesn’t. She wasn’t really expecting him to. 

Another random, absurd thought crosses her mind: maybe prayers are like confessions, and he’s bound to a code of silence. She imagines the look of outrage on his face at the thought of being compared to a priest, and it makes her almost want to smile.

“I’m just tired,” Chloe says finally. That, also, is the truth. Or part of it, anyway.

“Come on then,” Lucifer says, getting to his feet. “Let’s get this cleared away, then take your dinner down to the microwave so you can have a proper meal. That will probably help.”

He’s not wrong, of course, but Chloe stands as well and stops him, grabbing his wrist and holding on tight. 

“Detective?” he says uncertainly.

“You love me, don’t you?” Chloe says. It’s needy and stupid, and shameful, the way she’s asking, but she can’t help it. She’s felt needy and stupid and shameful all day.

“Of _course_ I do,” Lucifer replies. He takes both her hands in his. “Chloe. Darling, what’s wrong?”

He’s asking because she’s crying again. She is so tired. Tired of crying, tired of hurting, tired of fighting. She just wants it to end, and she hears herself say something she wished she’d said on that balcony months ago. It’s a secret, something she’s barely admitted to herself— until now.

“Take me with you.” 

“Detective...” He’s looking at her with pity, and she can’t stand it.

“I mean it,” she insists. “I’m not afraid of Hell. And you can’t stay here, you have responsibilities, so— so take me with you.”

“No.” 

The single syllable is soft and final, but Chloe won’t accept it. She can’t. Not even when he lets go of her hands and turns away.

“I want you to,” she tells him. It’s easier to say this, when his back is to her. “Remember when you asked me what I wanted? What I desired, more than anything else? It’s this, Lucifer. It’s you. I don’t care where, or how, I just want to be with you.”

“No,” he says again. Louder. Firmer.

His tone sparks her anger, like a blast of air on a hot ember. “You give everybody what they want,” she accuses him. “Perfect strangers practically chase you down the street, telling you their desires, and you do it. Every time. So why not now? Why can’t I go with you, if that’s what I want?”

“Because I don’t want you there,” Lucifer answers, his voice drawn tight like a bowstring. 

“Well, you don’t just get to decide things, Lucifer.”

“Don’t I?” He whirls to face her, and his eyes are burning orange. “Have you forgotten who I am, Detective? Hell is my domain. You do not belong there.”

Chloe blinks, but she stands her ground. She knows he’s trying to scare her, to push her away. She’s not going to let him. 

“And you do?” she counters.

“You are better than me,” he replies shortly. “You’ve always been better—”

“Stop putting me on a pedestal!” Chloe shouts. She can’t take this from him, just like she couldn’t take it from Dan downstairs.

Lucifer blinks. His eyes go brown again.

“You don’t know,” she goes on. “You don’t know the people I’ve hurt— the guilt I carry, the regrets. You don’t know that I won’t go there anyway when I die.”

“You won’t,” Lucifer says, but he doesn’t sound so certain anymore. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

That’s ludicrous, and Chloe laughs, even though it’s cruel. Even though it hurts him. 

“So, what, you’re going to intercede on my behalf?” she says. “Beg your Dad to let me in, even if I don’t deserve it?”

“You deserve—”

“What kind of a deal would you have to make for that, huh?” Chloe persists. She’s egging him on now, talking about why he’s here without actually saying the words. “What kind of a favor would that require? What would you owe Him?”

He changes tack instead of taking the bait. “You say you want me to take you away, you say I have responsibilities, well, what about yours?” he asks, taking a step closer. “Your family, your friends? This job that you’re apparently so passionate about you won’t even take one day off to be with me?”

Chloe reels back as if he’s slapped her. Can he not see— how does he not know that she pushed him away this morning, to make it easier in the long run?

“What about your daughter?” he adds, pressing his advantage.

The mention of Trixie helps her find her footing again. “You want to talk about my daughter?” she snarls. “My daughter, who has been heartbroken since you left without so much as a goodbye? My daughter, who’s been punishing _me_ for that, for months? My daughter, who only made peace with me tonight because you made a deal with her? That’s what you want to talk about, Lucifer?”

“I didn’t ask her—”

“Don’t even try it,” Chloe snaps. “I know you did. And tomorrow, when you’re gone, is she gonna take it all back? Will she tell me the Devil made her do it?”

She gets an ugly satisfaction watching that blow land — watching the hurt that’s replaced a second later by the flash of Hellfire in his eyes.

“I didn’t make her do anything,” he growls. He doesn’t sound completely human anymore, but Chloe’s found a weak spot, and she can’t resist poking it a little more. She’s _so_ angry with him — the fury’s been building all day, it’s been building for months. 

“Just like you didn’t make me stay here, right?” she counters. “You didn’t even give me a choice, Lucifer, you just left!”

“I had to!”

“And today— today, _you_ wanted to be here, so here you are, never mind the consequences on me or my life,” she barrels on. “You claim to be about free will, but you’re not. You’re about _your_ will, and you don’t care who you hurt so long as you get your way.”

“That’s not true,” he shouts. “I— I came here for you!”

“Well, I wish you hadn’t.”

She regrets saying it — she regrets everything — as soon as the words leave her mouth, because he doesn’t give her a chance to take it back. She doesn’t even see his wings fold out— just, one second he’s there, and the next, he’s gone. 

A single, small white feather swirls in the space that he used to occupy.


	9. Chapter 9

Chloe stares at the horizon. The tops of the skyscrapers are gleaming in the light of the almost-setting sun. Her shadow is long and dark on the concrete surface of the roof. She sighs.

She’s called out for him three times. She’s apologized to the wind, she’s told a flock of pigeons that she didn’t mean it. But she’s received no response — not from the wind, not from the pigeons, and definitely not from Lucifer. 

Meaning he didn’t just turn invisible this time. Meaning he’s gone. 

She only hopes he didn’t go back to Hell. Not yet. Not before she can explain.

 _Please,_ she thinks, wiping her eyes as she gathers up the remnants of their meal. She doesn’t know who she’s reaching out to, and at this point it doesn’t even matter. It’s an unspecified wish, an indirect ask, a plea she sends out into the world, because she doesn’t know what else to do.

_Please bring him back._

* * *

Dan is speaking with an young Korean man at his desk when Chloe returns. He watches her curiously as she comes down the stairs carrying the takeout bag and the folded red blanket that they’d used for their picnic, but he doesn’t comment. The Styrofoam container of dinner that Lucifer has labelled _DD_ — three guesses what that stands for — is sitting unopened at his elbow. 

Feeling like she’s in a fog, Chloe takes her own food to the breakroom and pours it into a microwave-safe bowl. The eggplant will be rubbery, and probably not that appetizing, but at least it’ll be warm, and Chloe can eat the noodles. In the shitstorm that’s been her day, this is one thing that’s easy enough to deal with, one thing that might — someone-willing — go right. 

She eats mechanically, perched on the edge of a chair in the corner of the breakroom. She doesn’t want to go back to the bullpen, doesn’t want to run the risk of Dan or Ella asking her what’s wrong. She feels worse right now than she’s felt for a while — like she’s reverted to how she was immediately after Lucifer returned to Hell. It’s as if her world is upside down, and she doesn’t know why she keeps bothering to put one foot in front of the other. Before today — oh, how she took yesterday for granted — it had been getting easier. The hurt had been healing. Slowly, of course, but healing nonetheless. 

She is so angry at him for taking that away.

Anger is, of course, part of the grieving process — Chloe doesn’t need a psychiatrist to tell her that, though Linda _has_ told her — but she hadn’t really felt it before today. She hadn’t gotten there yet. Lucifer’s reappearance rushed her into it before she was ready, and look what happened. Most people who are grieving never get the chance to yell and scream and throw a fit, like she did, in the face of the person they’ve lost — or if they do, they don’t risk permanent damage to their relationship, because the person doesn’t come back. 

She so wants him to come back. 

She gets through about half of her dinner before she gives up and throws the rest out. She hates wasting food, but she just doesn’t have it in her to feel bad about that right now. She fills her water bottle at the cooler and checks the time — again. Seriously, how much of her day has been spent looking at clocks? 

It’s after 7:30. Chloe thinks about what most people are doing at this time on a Wednesday evening. Maybe eating a late dinner, filling the dishwasher, helping their kids with their homework. For one moment, Chloe would give anything to be one of them — to have the domestic bliss that she was promised when she and Dan got married. But rationally, she knows she’s better off without it. She would get bored in seconds flat — she _did_ get bored in seconds flat. She needs the chase, the thrill, the danger of her job, her life.

But she could probably do without the celestial shit.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Dan steps into the breakroom, and from the look on his face, Chloe knows exactly what he’s about to ask. 

“He left,” Chloe says, because Lucifer is the last thing she wants to talk about right now.

Dan frowns. “I didn’t see him come through.”

Chloe just shrugs. She’s getting pretty good at this whole omission thing. “So, we got a witness?” 

“Yeah,” says Dan, refocusing. “Mark Choi. He was working at the 24-hour convenience store two doors down on the night Roberta died. He says that a woman came in around 2:30 and asked if she could go out the back door.”

“That’s odd,” Chloe comments, intrigued out of her funk. “Why?”

“Apparently, a man was following her,” Dan explains. “I guess Mark asked her if she wanted him to call 911, and she refused. She said her car was parked out back, and if she could just go through the store, she could drive away before he caught up.”

“And did she?”

Dan sighs. “He assumes so, but he’s not sure. He was watching the front window, keeping an eye out for this man.”

“Makes sense,” Chloe muses. “Did he see anybody, get a description?”

“No,” Dan replies, shaking his head. “He saw a few guys on the street, but none of them seemed suspicious, and nobody came in looking for her.”

“Hm,” says Chloe. “Can he at least describe the woman?”

Dan shrugs. “He said he recognized her from the neighborhood, but he isn’t sure who she is.”

“But it wasn’t Roberta,” Chloe concludes.

“Definitely not,” Dan confirms. “I’ve got him working with a sketch artist right now.”

“Good idea,” says Chloe. “And maybe we can get surveillance footage, too. Did he see or hear anything else?”

“Yes, actually,” Dan says. “He heard a loud noise around 2, but he didn’t think it was a gunshot until his boss told him what happened.”

“That gives us a possible timeline, that’s great,” Chloe says. “I still want to go over that old case, though, see if there are any connections.”

“Yeah,” Dan agrees. He hesitates, then glances at the clock himself. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be going home soon?”

“Yes,” Chloe admits, “but I’m not.”

“Chloe,” Dan starts, but Chloe walks away, heading back to her desk. Dan follows. “Chlo, don’t do this to yourself. It’s been a long day, go home and get some rest.”

“I’m fine,” Chloe tells him.

“You know the lieutenant doesn’t like us doing overtime unless it’s an emergency,” he tries.

“No overtime,” she explains. “I took some time off throughout the day that I ought to make up for.” Which is G— someone’s honest truth.

“You’ll miss Trixie’s bedtime,” Dan warns.

That does bring Chloe up short— for a few seconds. Then she remembers how Lucifer spoke to Trixie when he thought Chloe couldn’t hear; the conspiratorial look that Trixie and Lucifer shared when Trixie revealed that he already knew about the piano lessons; the way that Lucifer got defensive when Chloe asked him without asking if he’d made some kind of deal with her. 

“Maze will take care of that,” she replies. It’s cowardly, avoiding a conversation with her own daughter, but she doesn’t know what else to do right now. “I’ll call to say goodnight, the way you usually do.”

Dan stares at her like he doesn’t know what to say. Finally, he turns away, muttering some familiar Spanish swear words under his breath. Chloe ignores him and picks up the archived file that she left on her desk before dinner. 

It takes her a good ten minutes to clean up the mess she made of the folder this morning, but she finally gets it more or less in order and starts to read. The details come back to her as she does: the husband’s barely-confirmed alibi of being at The Corral, the phone call that apparently caused him to race out of the bar, even though he was still able to text his mistress three times before calling 911. The questionable angle of the gunshot, the smudged fingerprints on the gun that they could only ever determine were partially the victim’s. The journals in the closet with her, open to her recent reflections about her cheating husband. 

Just as in Roberta’s case, it seems cut and dry that this was a suicide — or an attempted one, anyway. Seems like a miracle the victim survived. 

She finds a page she didn’t see before — interview notes with a friend of the suspect, who confirmed his alibi. She skims it, seeing nothing new: the bar receipt doesn’t show it, but the suspect was still at The Corral, with this friend, when he received a call from his wife. 

Chloe sighs, disappointed, and is about to set it aside when the name of the friend catches her eye: Luke Torelli. 

_Wait,_ she thinks. Isn’t that the name of the bar owner? The man she talked to this morning?

Chloe finds her notebook, checks. She’s right: Luke is the owner of The Corral, and he was interviewed two years ago in connection to Dan’s case. Now here he is, connected to another one. 

_It’s a coincidence,_ Dan’s voice in her head says, and Chloe’s tempted to believe him, but what if it’s not? There was no surveillance footage to back up the husband’s word that he’d been at The Corral; Luke’s interview was really all that proved he was where he said he was. 

She reads Dan’s notes from the interview one more time and notices a tiny detail at the bottom: _Mr. Torelli (owner of The Corral) cannot provide CCTV as the relevant camera is currently damaged._

Just like the kitchen camera was broken the night Roberta died, Chloe thinks, sitting back in her chair. It could still be a coincidence, of course. Electronics fail all the time. But it’s another aspect of the case — of both cases — that doesn’t quite add up. 

“Hey, Chloe?” says Ella’s voice, startling her. “Sorry,” she adds when Chloe jumps.

“It’s okay,” Chloe says, slowing her breathing. “Guess I got kinda sucked into it there. You need me to sign off on your paperwork before you go home?”

“No,” says Ella. “I mean, yes, I’ll be heading out soon, but I wanted to talk to you first. You got a minute?”

“Sure,” Chloe replies, following her back to her lab.

As soon as Chloe closes the door behind them, Ella steps forward and wraps Chloe up in a hug. 

“What the—?” Chloe starts to say, but Ella just holds on tighter. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Are you okay?” Ella asks, letting go after a minute. 

“I’m fine,” Chloe answers, but when Ella gives her a skeptical eyebrow, she sighs. “I’m hanging in there,” she amends. “Why?”

Ella looks away, fiddles with something on the table. “I just— I heard you’ve been having kind of a rough day, and I wanted to check on you.”

“That’s sweet,” says Chloe, suppressing the annoyance she feels, because it’s not Ella’s fault. “But, look, whatever Dan told you—”

“It wasn’t Dan,” Ella interrupts. 

Even more annoyed, Chloe crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay, then, whatever _Lucifer_ told you—”

“Not him, either,” says Ella.

Chloe frowns. “Then who?”

Ella turns to the left, like someone else has just chimed in, and Chloe understands. A chill runs down her spine. 

“Rae-Rae?” she asks.

Ella turns back to Chloe rather sharply. “Did I tell you her name? I didn’t think I did.”

 _Shit,_ Chloe thinks. She wasn’t supposed to know that. “Um, I’m pretty sure you did,” she says, trying not to look as guilty as she feels for lying to Ella twice in a matter of hours. 

Ella doesn’t look convinced, but she drops it at least. “Guess I must’ve. Anyway, yeah, it was her. Apparently I’m not the only living person she checks up on periodically.”

Chloe nods, glances around the lab again. “Is she here?”

“Yeah,” says Ella, tilting her head towards the far corner. “I wish you could see her. Stupid ghost rules.”

She turns her back, and Chloe gets a sudden glimpse of a short young woman standing in the corner. She looks nothing like Lucifer, and even less like an angel. She has glasses and dark hair cropped close around her ears. She’s dressed much the same as Ella, in a black graphic tee and faded jeans. 

She grins, wiggles her fingers at Chloe, then disappears. 

“So, you want to talk about it?” Ella asks, drawing Chloe’s eyes away from the now seemingly-empty corner of the lab.

“Talk about what?” Chloe asks, distracted by the thought that the frickin’ _Angel of Death_ just waved at her.

“About your rough day,” says Ella. “What’s going on?”

Chloe sighs, refocusing. It only takes her a moment to decide that she doesn’t want to talk about her fight with Lucifer on the roof. Also, that would be very hard to explain without Ella knowing all the facts. So she opts instead to keep it simple and just tell her the truth — or as close to it as she can. 

“Lucifer can’t stay in L.A.,” she says. “He has to leave tomorrow morning.”

“But he just got here,” Ella exclaims. “What is _with_ that family?”

Like Dan, Ella has also come up with her own explanations for Lucifer’s absence — she is convinced that his _totally bonkers_ family has been in a state of continuous crisis for the last few months. She’s not wrong, strictly speaking, but Chloe finds herself at a loss to explain fully. Especially since Ella would probably never believe the truth, if her reactions to Lucifer over the years are any indication. 

“I mean, isn’t Amenadiel the oldest?” Ella goes on. “Why does he get to stay— oh, wait, never mind. Baby,” she says with a snap of her fingers. She shakes her head. “Heteronormativity wins again.”

Chloe huffs out a laugh. “Looks like.”

“Damn, though, that really sucks, that he has to go home again so soon,” says Ella. “Hey, where is home for him, anyway? Every time I ask, he changes the subject, or talks about Hell, the weirdo.”

“Uh,” says Chloe, before opting for omission again over an outright lie. “Wherever he’s going, he’s not happy about it.”

“Probably Florida,” Ella says wisely. She exhales, fixes Chloe with a sympathetic look. “Anything I can do?”

Chloe’s eyes land again on the cross around Ella’s neck, and she’s asking the question before she can stop herself. “Ella, how did you get your faith back?” 

Ella doesn’t answer right away. A little awkwardly, Chloe adds, “We never talked about it, after Charlie got home safe, and I was just wondering. What changed your mind? You know, about...”

“God?” Ella supplies, which is helpful because Chloe can’t seem to say that word anymore, even if she wanted to. “I don’t know,” Ella says. “I guess I realized that I can’t only have faith in the good times, you know? And it just kinda hit me, that, even if I turn away, He’s always gonna be there. It’s comforting, to know He’s got my back.”

Chloe shakes her head. No matter how hard she tries, she just can’t reconcile Ella’s God with Lucifer’s Dad. “How do you know, though?” she presses. 

“I don’t,” Ella says simply. “I believe.”

“And that’s... enough?”

“Most of the time, yeah,” Ella replies. “Some days are harder than others, though. Sometimes — like, after Charlotte. I just got so mad at Him. Like, why would He do that?”

Chloe stares at the floor. Why, indeed?

“But I have to trust that it’s all part of the plan,” Ella concludes, which brings Chloe’s eyes back up. “That He’s looking out for me, and He’s gonna give me what I need to get through the hard times.”

Chloe’s silent for a long moment. “You have a lot more faith in Him than I do,” she says finally. Then, like a dam breaking, more bitter words pour out of her. “I don’t understand why He’s doing this to me. To Lucifer. To us. Seems like a sick joke — here’s something you want, oh, wait, no, never mind!” She throws up her hands. “I just— haven’t I been through enough yet? When will it stop?”

Ella grabs both her hands and squeezes. Her grip is solid and grounding, allowing Chloe to take a breath, even as a few more tears leak out of her eyes.

“And I am _sick_ of crying,” she huffs in exasperation, and Ella hugs her again, even tighter than before.

When she’s calmed down a little, Ella asks, “Have you ever read the book of Job?”

Chloe can’t help it — she laughs, loud and harsh — then scrambles to explain when Ella looks surprised, confused, and almost hurt by the reaction. 

“Sorry, sorry, it’s just that Maze said something similar to me earlier today,” she says.

Ella’s surprise grows. “Well, I’m definitely asking her about that, next Tribe night.”

That’s probably not a good idea, but Chloe doesn’t have it in her to argue. “I haven’t read it, no,” she answers Ella’s question. “I barely remember it from Sunday School.”

“Well, I re-read it recently, after everything that happened with Charlie, and that massacre at the Mayan,” Ella says. 

She lets go of Chloe’s hands, and Chloe looks away. The clean-up at the Mayan had been one of the harder things to explain without telling the truth about the supernatural, especially for someone as scientifically minded as Ella. 

“The book of Job is one of the few times that _our friend,”_ Ella says with an exaggerated wink, and Chloe knows who she means, “makes an appearance in the Bible.”

“Okay,” says Chloe. “And what does _our friend_ do?”

“Well, it’s like this. He comes up to God one day, and God says to him, ‘Hey, check out this guy, Job. Isn’t he great?’ And the Devil says, ‘Sure, he’s great, but he’s never suffered. Take away all the good things he has, then see how great he is.’”

Chloe has a moment of cognitive dissonance, trying to picture Lucifer saying something like that. She shakes it off.

“So, God says, ‘Okay, Satan, do your worst.’ And Satan does,” Ella goes on. “All of Job’s family gets killed, his crops fail, his livestock get, like, hit by lightning I think? And God says to Satan, ‘There, see? He’s still a good guy.’ And Satan says, ‘Well, he’s still healthy. Make him sick, then see what happens.’ So God says, ‘Okay,’ and Satan makes Job really, really sick.”

Again, Chloe can’t picture that, but she nods. “So what happens then?”

“Well, the rest of the book is Job complaining, and his wife and his friends trying to comfort him,” says Ella, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. “And Job’s friends — they’re like you, you know? They’re trying to find a reason for it. They’re asking him, like, ‘What’d you do to piss God off? You had to have done something!’ But Job didn’t. He was just living his life, and all this terrible shit happened to him, the way it does sometimes.”

Chloe frowns. “No offence, but that sounds like a pointless story.”

“No, wait, it gets better,” Ella rushes to add. “So Job’s complaining and talking to his friends, and finally, there’s a storm, and God Himself comes down and answers him.”

Chloe’s eyebrows shoot up. Ella, clearly sensing her captive audience, goes on.

“And God tells him about how He made everything, and knows everything, and how Job is nothing compared to all of that. And eventually, Job says, ‘You know what, dude, you’re right. I am nothing.’”

Chloe, expecting more, waits.

“And... that’s it,” Ella concludes, a bit anticlimactically. “God gives him his health back, and he has more kids, and his farm does really well again, and, yeah, it’s all good.”

“But, I don’t—” Chloe begins. “ I don’t understand,” she says finally.

“That’s the point,” says Ella. “Job doesn’t understand, either. He can’t, nobody can. Nobody knows why God does the things He does, or why bad things happen to good people. But you have to put your faith in the higher power, and trust that He knows what He’s doing.”

There’s an odd sound behind Chloe, and she gets a whiff of a familiar scent that fades too quickly for her to identify. 

“Because He does,” Ella adds, drawing Chloe’s attention back. “I know it might not seem like it right now, but He has a plan, and you’ll get through it. Okay?”

She pulls Chloe in for another hug while Chloe is still reeling. Again, her touch is grounding, and Chloe closes her eyes to enjoy its comfort. 

“Not that that helps much,” says Ella, pulling away after a minute. “I’ve been where you are right now, and I know nothing I can say will convince you. So, if you want me to shut up, and just be here for you, I’m cool with that, too. Just say so.”

“No, it’s okay,” Chloe says with a warm smile. “You’re a good friend, Ella, thank you.” 

After they separate, however, Chloe laughs a little, and gestures towards Ella’s necklace. “But if you’re talking to the Big Guy, maybe you could ask. Maybe He’ll tell you what’s going on. I don’t see Him coming out of a storm to talk to me any time soon.”

Ella smiles. “My abuela used to say that God answers all of our prayers,” she says gently. “It’s just that the answer is often no.”

“Well, that’s not very nice,” Chloe replies, joking.

Ella laughs, but her eyes stay serious. “No, what I mean is, God _is_ talking to you. He’s talking to all of us, all of the time, even if we might not like what He has to say.”

Chloe doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Have you asked Him?” Ella adds. “You say He’s not answering you, but have you even asked Him a question?”

Chloe stares. Until this moment, the thought has literally never occurred to her. She hasn’t really prayed since, well, she supposes since the times she bowed her head with Father Kinley, though even that didn’t feel like prayer so much as a silent mental breakdown. She doesn’t even remember the words he said, but she knows she begged for strength and clarity as she struggled with the task Kinley had set her. 

Did God give her either, she wonders. She isn’t sure.

And on the rooftop a moment ago — was that a prayer? Will someone— will God answer her? Will He bring Lucifer back?

Chloe, unable to answer Ella’s question — or her own — turns to go. “Thank you, Ella,” she says again.

“Wait, one more thing,” Ella says, stopping her. “I forgot: the Cyber team has figured out that all those e-transfers from Roberta’s account, they were going to the same person.”

“What?” says Chloe. Her brain shifts gears like a pick-up with a bad transmission; she can practically hear a clunk as her thoughts return to the case. “I thought there were multiple email addresses,” she manages after a moment. “How do they know it was the same person?”

“Well, the addresses are all new,” Ella explains, “like, the oldest was set up a month ago. But they were all created from the same IP address, and all of them use the same mobile number as a verification method.”

She hands Chloe a piece of paper with the relevant info. Chloe eyes the phone number, thinking for a second that she recognizes it, but she writes off the connection — it’s the same area code as her mother’s number, that’s all. 

“So we just need to find out whose phone number this is,” Chloe finishes. 

“Exactly.”

“Okay, thanks. I’ll follow up with Cyber first thing in the morning, see if they’ve made any progress.”

“Actually, I’m sticking around a bit longer,” says Ella. “I can let you know.”

Chloe is about to protest when she recognizes the look in Ella’s eyes. If she tries to convince her to go home now, she knows she’d have about as much success as Dan did earlier. So she nods, tells Ella to keep her posted, and heads back to her desk. 

For the briefest second when she gets there, she thinks she can smell Lucifer’s cologne, but it’s probably just wishful thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, if you're curious, the details of the old case that Chloe reads here are inspired by a real event that occurred in Georgia in 2016. A police officer's wife was injured (apparently shot in the head) while he was having dinner with a friend (another cop). It was suspiciously ruled an attempted suicide, despite many indications that it was attempted murder, and that there was a police cover-up to, well, cover it up. Details of the case just don't add up, and it's a fascinating, if very troubling, story. Check out this break-down by one of my favourite true crime YouTube channels [here](https://youtu.be/iD7yqQFIlNs) if you want to learn more. (Warning for violence, discussion of domestic abuse, sexual assault, and suicide, and police corruption without consequence. [TL;DR: it's infuriating, ACAB, de-fund the police.])


	10. Chapter 10

After ten more minutes of reviewing the old case file, Chloe suddenly remembers that she was planning to check Lillian’s alibi with her husband. His shift at St. Michael’s Hospital ends in less than an hour, and she’d like to meet him there, talk to him apart from his wife, just in case.

She stands up at once, and sees that Dan’s already making his way across the bullpen to her. “Hospital?” she says. 

“You read my mind,” he replies. “Let’s go.”

But they’re delayed in the parking lot when it becomes apparent — as Chloe feared — that her car isn’t going to start. Not without— 

“Did you have any trouble before?” Dan asks. 

He slides into the driver’s seat to turn the key himself — even though it’s exactly the same thing Chloe was just doing. She rolls her eyes when he’s not looking.

“Worked just fine earlier,” she says, deciding not to mention that it’s been running without a key in the ignition for hours.

Dan gives it one more go, the key clicking uselessly, before he climbs out. “Probably the alternator,” he says wisely. “I’ll take a look when we get back from the hospital.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Chloe tells him. “Damn celestial interference,” she adds under her breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Chloe locks the doors with her fob, and follows Dan to his cruiser. 

They’ve only been on the road a few minutes when her phone rings. Chloe fumbles it out of her pocket and sees that it’s Trixie, calling on video. She suppresses the mess of her feelings and puts on a big smile for her daughter before she answers. 

“Hi Mommy,” Trixie exclaims — it couldn’t be more different from her previous phone call. “Where are you?”

“Dad and I are stuck on a case,” Chloe explains, tilting the phone in Dan’s direction. He takes his eyes off the road for a second and waves. “Sorry I’m not there to say goodnight.”

“It’s okay,” Trixie replies.

Chloe feels a different kind of pang in her chest. Trixie is almost old enough now that it is okay, that she can put herself to bed. In a couple years she won’t even need a babysitter. When did her little monkey start growing up so fast?

“How was piano?” Dan asks. 

“It was really good,” Trixie replies. The three of them chat about that for a few minutes, until Trixie says, surprisingly serious, “Mommy, can I ask you something?”

Chloe glances anxiously at Dan, not sure how she’s going to explain it if Trixie’s question is about the Devil, or Hell, or God, or— 

“Of course,” Chloe says, tamping down her fear. “What is it, monkey?”

“Do you think Lucifer’s gonna come back to stay?” 

Chloe feels the bottom drop out of her stomach. She doesn’t want to lie and give Trixie false hope, but she also doesn’t want to get into this topic right now if she can help it. It’s just too raw; the only reason she’s been okay since the fight on the roof is that she’s had the case and Ella to distract her.

“Do you want him to?” Chloe asks instead of answering. 

“Yeah,” says Trixie. “Real bad. I miss him.”

“I know,” Chloe says softly. They’re almost at the hospital, so Dan eases into the exit lane. “I miss him, too.”

“I don’t know why his Dad won’t let him come home,” Trixie adds.

“Well,” says Chloe, stalling for time to think before she settles on something resembling the truth. “They had a big fight.” 

“You wouldn’t kick _me_ out if we had a fight,” says Trixie. She sounds scared. “Would you?”

“Of course not,” Chloe says, and beside her Dan lets out a similar exclamation. Chloe looks directly into the camera on her phone. “Sweetheart, your Dad and I love you, and we would never, ever do that to you. Ever. You got that?”

Trixie nods, and, in the background, Chloe hears Maze say, “Told you, little human. Lucifer’s Dad is just a jerk.”

Chloe can’t quite stifle a laugh, but Trixie’s expression doesn’t change. “Doesn’t Lucifer’s Dad love him, too, though?”

Chloe sighs. The question is so simple, but she doesn’t have an answer. She’s not even sure Lucifer does. 

“It’s complicated, monkey,” she says finally. Dan stops at a red light, and Chloe’s aware of his eyes on her when she adds, “I think maybe Lucifer’s Dad loves him in His own way.”

Trixie doesn’t say anything to that, and after a moment, Dan pipes up. “What do we always tell you, Trix? We love you to Mars and back.”

“Because it’s so much further than the moon,” Chloe agrees with a smile.

The tension dissipates, and Trixie grins. “And Mars has _two_ moons,” she adds. “They’re called Phobos and Deimos, because they’re Mars’s sons. And they’re twins.”

“They sure are,” says Chloe, interrupting before Trixie can go too far down the Fun Facts About Mars list. “I think it’s just about time to say goodnight, don’t you?”

“I suppose,” Trixie agrees with a world-weary sigh that makes Chloe laugh. 

“Be good for Maze, okay?” she says. “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth,” Dan chimes in, glancing over as he makes a right turn. Outside, there’s a blue sign with a white H on it; they’re arrived. 

“And don’t let Maze tell you a scary story,” Chloe adds, which makes Trixie roll her eyes. 

“I know,” she says, with a hint of sass. “Lucifer already told her not to, and he’s the boss of Maze, so—”

“Ex-boss,” says Maze in the background, but Chloe talks over her.

“Did— did Lucifer come over?” Her voice is unsteady.

“Just for a minute,” Trixie answers. “He and Maze had to talk about boring grown-up stuff.” She shrugs. “I watched cartoons.”

Chloe barely hears that last part. It’s like there’s static in her ears. Her heart is hammering in her chest, so fast she thinks it might burst, and she can’t see clearly. Everything is blurry, going grey— 

Something touches Chloe’s shoulder, and she flinches violently before she realizes it’s Dan’s hand. The car has stopped, he’s saying goodnight to Trixie, and he’s rubbing Chloe’s shoulder a little too forcefully.

“Goodnight,” Chloe manages to repeat after him, and he reaches in front of her to disconnect the call. 

Chloe looks up, realizes they’re in the St. Michael’s Hospital visitor’s lot. She doesn’t know exactly when they parked. And Dan is watching her like she’s a bomb that might go off if he makes the wrong move. 

“Sorry,” she says after a second. “I guess I zoned out.”

“Dissociated,” Dan corrects her softly. She glances at him in surprise, and he adds, “Dr. Khan taught me.”

“Oh. Right.”

Dan told her a few months ago that Linda had referred him to a counsellor, that he was working on some stuff. He hasn’t talked about it much since, however, and it’s not something she can casually bring up in conversation.

“How long?” Chloe asks. “Was I—”

“Just a few seconds,” Dan replies, removing his hand from her shoulder. “I doubt Trix even noticed.”

He’s lying to her, of course, but Chloe isn’t in a position to argue. She unbuckles her seatbelt, but doesn’t move to get out of the car yet. She just needs to breathe a little longer, ground herself a little more.

“Chloe,” Dan says, too gentle by half, “maybe you should talk to somebody about this.”

“I’m okay,” Chloe reassures him. She looks over into Dan’s eyes. “Really,” she stresses. “I just want to go back to work.”

She reaches for the door handle, but Dan speaks again, stopping her.

“Before we do, I have to say something.”

“Okay,” Chloe replies, a little apprehensive.

Dan takes a deep breath. “I want to apologize. When I saw Lucifer was back, I kinda... lost it for a minute.”

“I understand,” says Chloe. It comes out shaken, so she clears her throat, hoping he didn’t notice. “I’ve spent most of the day feeling like I’ve lost it.” 

“I was just looking for another reason to hate him,” Dan admits. “I told myself it was because he hurt you.”

“He did hurt me,” Chloe can’t help but add. 

“I know,” Dan says softly. “What I’m getting at is... I’m sorry if I’ve made today harder for you, Chlo.”

Chloe smiles at him, resigned. “Today was gonna be hard no matter what,” she tells him. “But thank you, I appreciate that.”

There’s a beat of silence. Chloe almost thinks they’re done. Then— 

“Did you know?” Dan asks. “That he was coming back today?”

“No,” Chloe admits. “It was a surprise.”

“Was it supposed to be, like, a grand romantic gesture, or...?”

Chloe stares out the windshield. Talking about Lucifer right now is like poking a fresh bruise. It’s weirdly good, but also very painful, and she worries that she might do permanent damage — she might fall apart again — if she doesn’t stop. Still... 

“I don’t know,” she says. “I honestly have no idea what he’s thinking.”

Dan doesn’t reply to that, and Chloe doesn’t know what more she can say, so she opens the car door and steps out onto the pavement. Dan does the same, and they walk side-by-side towards the hospital.

* * *

When they reach the ER, Dan introduces himself to the nurse at Reception, a perky young woman with a heart-shaped face and dark hair that bounces around her chin. Her name tag says _Mindy,_ with a happy face dotting the letter i. 

Dan asks if Sascha Bozovic, Lillian’s husband, is still here. Mindy eyes Dan’s badge suspiciously, but she answers in the affirmative and pages him. 

While they wait, Chloe’s eyes wander, taking in the people in the waiting room. It’s barely 9pm on a Wednesday, so there aren’t that many of them: a man with his right hand wrapped in gauze, a woman with her left ankle elevated, another woman with a small child who looks pale and feverish. 

“Hey, Dan?” Chloe says, a thought occurring to her. “Remember that time Trixie had that really bad ear ache, and it turned out to be an infection?”

“Yeah,” says Dan. “She screamed and screamed, it hurt so bad. Poor kid. Why?”

“It took her at least two days on antibiotics to start feeling better, didn’t it?” asks Chloe, not answering his question yet. “I remember we each had to take a sick day, back-to-back.”

“We did,” Dan says. “What are you getting at?”

Chloe turns to him. “Lillian’s husband has been here, working, and Lillian came down to the station today. Who stayed with the kid?” 

Dan blinks. “I don’t— she didn’t say. I guess I just assumed she left him with his grandparents or something.”

“Yeah,” Chloe muses. “She didn’t say anything about it to me, either. Seems odd.”

“I guess,” says Dan.

“So... did you end up telling her we were considering that the victim killed herself?” Chloe prompts, a bit carefully because she’s mindful of the disagreement they had about this earlier. 

“I told her,” Dan says. He sighs. “And she did kinda jump all over it. Told me she always thought there was something off about Roberta, and that she seemed sad the last few weeks.”

“Hm,” says Chloe. That raises another red flag, but it’s not incriminating enough for her to do anything with. 

“Detectives?” says a voice from behind them. Chloe turns and finds herself face-to-face with a gorgeous man in green scrubs. His square jaw and storm-blue eyes look like something out of a magazine, even if his dark hair is a bit greasy, and he’s obviously sagging with exhaustion.

She notices that he isn’t wearing a wedding band, though that’s not uncommon for men, especially men who work with their hands. And given how often an ER nurse would be washing up, it makes sense that he wouldn’t have it on at work. 

“I’m Sascha Bozovic, you were looking for me?” the nurse adds. 

“Yes,” Chloe answers. “We were just hoping you could confirm an alibi for us.”

“I— okay,” he says uncertainly. “But Mindy can probably get you records, if you want to know someone was here.”

“Oh, no, sorry,” says Chloe, realizing what he’s assumed. “It’s not a patient. We were actually asking about your wife.”

“My wife?” Sascha is looking even more confused now. 

“Yeah, can you tell us what time she got home from work, the night before last?” Dan asks. 

“I— no, I can’t,” says Sascha. Chloe and Dan exchange a look, and Sascha raises his hands defensively. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think you have the right person, Detectives. I’m not married.”

“He’s not,” Mindy chimes in. “You definitely have the wrong person.”

Chloe tries not to roll her eyes at the interruption. “You mean, you’re not married to Lillian Baldwin?” asks Dan. 

“I have no idea who that is,” Sascha replies.

“Then I’m guessing you don’t have a kid together, either,” Chloe adds.

Sascha’s eyes go large. “No. God, no. I don’t have any kids.”

Dan turns to Chloe, at a loss. “She made it all up?” 

“Any chance there’s _another_ Sascha Bozovic who works here?” Chloe asks Sascha, even though it seems like a long shot.

“No,” says Sascha, with a slight laugh. “I’m the only one.”

“And this is the only St. Michael’s Hospital in L.A.,” Mindy adds brightly. “I think somebody lied to you.”

“Thank you,” Dan says, politely enough that Chloe can hear the four-letter word that he really wants to say instead. He turns his back on Mindy and Sascha and says to Chloe in a low voice, “Should we get working on a warrant?”

“We don’t have enough for that yet,” says Chloe, but as if on cue, her phone rings, the precinct number on the screen. She steps away to answer, while Dan asks Sascha if he’s ever been to The Corral or met Roberta Sutton.

“Hey, Chloe,” says Ella. “I was just on my way out, but I got some results back: turns out our victim had minute traces of someone else’s blood and skin under her fingernails.”

“She scratched someone?” Chloe asks.

“Looks like. Only a little, though. She also had quite a bit of soap residue there, so it’s possible that it happened by accident earlier in the night, and she cleaned herself up. But it’s weird.”

“Definitely,” Chloe agrees.

“Also, the sketch artist came by, looking for Dan. I’ve got the sketch in an envelope here, do you need it?”

“Yes, actually, that’s from a witness in this case,” says Chloe. “He said a woman came through his store a little while after he heard a gunshot. Can you open it and send me a picture?”

“Sure.” There’s a pause on the other end, a rustle. Then— “Oh my God.”

“What?” Chloe asks, anxious. “What happened?”

“This is the woman who was here earlier,” says Ella, talking fast. “You and Alvarez talked to her while Lucifer was playing with my microscopes.”

“Shit,” Chloe mutters. “Please send me that picture right now, I need it.”

“Yeah, one sec,” says Ella— Saint Ella, who should have clocked out hours ago. 

Chloe’s phone buzzes, and she pulls it away from her ear to look. The image is unmistakable — it’s Lillian.

“Thanks, Ella. I gotta go.” She hangs up after Ella’s hurried goodbye and says, “Dan.”

Her tone is sharp enough that Dan turns around at once. Chloe shows him the image, and watches him react — his mouth falls open, he blinks several times in quick succession. Then he schools his features into a professional mask. He turns back to Sascha and holds up Chloe’s phone. 

“Do you recognize this woman?” he asks. 

Sascha frowns, studying the image. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “But I don’t know why.”

Mindy invites herself to the conversation again, stepping out from behind her desk to peer at the sketch. 

“Oh, that’s the lady who was here a couple nights ago,” she says. “Or, more like morning. I was almost done my shift, so it was probably, like, 4? Close to it, anyway.”

“What was she here for?” asks Chloe. 

“She had these scratches on her arm. Said it was a cat, but I kinda doubt it.”

“Were they deep?” Dan asks. Chloe remembers he doesn’t know about how little material was found under Roberta’s fingernails, but she doesn’t stop him. 

“Yes,” says Sascha, “I remember now. The cuts were really wide, not like a cat at all. And because she wouldn’t tell me how she got them, I was pretty worried about infection. I got the doctor to prescribe some antibiotics, just in case. She didn’t want them, said she couldn’t afford them, but we convinced her eventually.”

 _Cost a fortune,_ Chloe hears Lillian say. It seems that one part of her story was true at least. She thinks about how Lillian was wearing long sleeves this morning, despite the heat, and tugs Dan to the side. 

“I think we’ve got enough for that warrant now,” she says in a low voice. She explains what Ella found under Roberta’s fingernails, ignoring Mindy, who’s very clearly trying to eavesdrop without looking like she’s eavesdropping. 

“How about I stay here and take an official statement, you go back to the precinct and start on the warrant request?” she concludes.

“It’s your case, Chloe,” Dan protests. He digs his car keys out of his pocket and hands them over. “You should get the warrant. I’ll take a cab back to the station when I’m done here.”

Chloe accepts the keys but hesitates. “You sure?”

“Positive,” says Dan. Chloe nods and goes. 

The drive back takes longer than the drive there — in keeping with the day she’s had, L.A. decides to throw a traffic jam at her at 9:17PM on a Wednesday. 

She considers turning on the radio, thinking music might distract her, but ultimately decides against it. She chooses to fill the silence instead by talking about the case. That’s one (very rational, not emotional) thing she’s really missed since Lucifer went away: having a partner to bounce ideas off of, to help her think things through.

So, Chloe talks like he’s there to hear her, even though he’s not. 

“Lillian lied to us this morning,” she says. It feels like a decade since she stood in the sun outside The Corral with Lucifer at her side, but it hasn’t even been twelve hours. “She didn’t tell us about kicking Tim out, and she made up a story about a husband that doesn’t exist.”

 _Well, Sascha_ does _exist,_ Chloe can almost hear Lucifer reply. _And might I add, he’s gorgeous. Did you see those eyes?_

“Of course he’s gorgeous,” Chloe mutters. “And he’s a nurse, and he’s really nice. That’s probably why she gave us his name when we asked. He was on her mind, since he helped her treat her injuries— the injuries that probably came from when Roberta fought back.”

 _The fight didn’t leave much DNA, though, did it,_ Imaginary Lucifer points out — because Real Lucifer doesn’t talk about forensic evidence as a general rule, unless it’s to indulge one of Ella’s excited outbursts.

“The wounds were wide and deep, that’s consistent with human fingernails,” Chloe goes on. “Even if there isn’t much gunk under her nails to show it, the medical records and testimony from Nurse Dreamy will back that up.”

 _So she had a bit of human gunk, soap, and ink on her hands,_ Lucifer-Who-Is-Really-Just-Chloe’s-Brain muses. _Sounds like she went to a very dull party._

“The ink,” Chloe says. “I’d forgotten about the ink. It was also on the trigger.” She sighs, drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “Somebody really wanted us to think this was suicide.... But if Lillian did it, then staged it, why would she tell us about seeing Tim’s car after she left the bar? Why play up the fact that he scared her, that she thought he was controlling or abusive?”

 _It’s the spaghetti approach,_ says Fake Lucifer promptly. 

That’s something Chloe’s father used to say, and it’s difficult to imagine the expression in Lucifer’s voice; Chloe doubts he’s ever cooked anything so common as spaghetti, let alone thrown it at a wall to see if it sticks.

But Fake Lucifer is right — this is exactly what Lillian was doing: throwing things at Chloe to see what would stick. In other words, she was covering one possibility in leading Chloe to suspect Tim, and another when she told Dan that Roberta was depressed. That way, no matter what conclusion the LAPD drew regarding Roberta’s death — murder or suicide — Lillian had an explanation ready for it. 

Chloe had already suspected as much after interviewing her with Alvarez, even if she hadn’t been thinking of it in those terms at the time. She’d wanted Dan to lead her to believe that they were considering suicide, after all — she realizes now that she’d been checking for the spaghetti approach even then. 

“Okay,” says Chloe. “But why tell us that she lied, only to lie more?”

 _Perhaps she just couldn’t help herself._ That sounds more like Lucifer. 

“Or she was building up my trust,” Chloe murmurs. “When she called— wait a minute,” Chloe interrupts herself, because something just occurred to her. 

Traffic is at a standstill anyway, so she pulls her phone out of her jacket pocket and opens up her recent calls. Then she reaches over to the papers that she left on the passenger seat when they went into the hospital, and she begins to shuffle through them. 

The car ahead of her chooses that moment to crawl forward, so she directs her eyes to the road and advances. When she stops again, she looks back at the passenger seat, and finds that the paper she was searching for is right on top of the pile. 

“Thank you,” she says to no one in particular, and she compares the phone number linked to the electronic funds transfers to the number that called her when she was half-dressed in Lucifer’s penthouse. 

It’s a perfect match. 

A triumphant grin breaks over her face. “Well done, Detective,” she whispers, stealing his line. 

As the logjam of cars in front of her finally starts to open up, she thinks she sees a flicker of dark movement in the rearview mirror. She looks, but of course the seat is empty.

The illusion crashes down around her like a heavy house of cards. She’s still alone. Lucifer is still gone — even if she can convince herself otherwise for a few minutes — and she still doesn’t know when, or if, he’ll be coming back.

She sniffs once, blinks her vision clear, and turns on the radio.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Bonus chapter, because it's not like I'm going to church this morning. 
> 
> Friendly reminder that I am not a police officer, and therefore I do not know how procedure works. I humbly ask that you please suspend your disbelief and expect as much realism as you would from a TV show in which the Devil solves homicides.
> 
> Warning for canon-typical violence/very mild gore (blood).

When Chloe gets back to the station, she files two warrants — one to arrest Lillian, and one to search her apartment. She also hits up the vending machine, because she’s starving again.

She doesn’t expect both warrants to be approved, but they are, and quicker than usual, which is a nice surprise considering the late hour, and how everything in the universe seems stacked against her today. So, when she gets the confirmation a little before eleven o’clock, she and Dan hop back in Dan’s car and lead a small team to Lillian’s door.

She should have known it was going too well. 

The apartment is empty, and, worse, there are signs that Lillian’s on the run: a piece of luggage is missing from the set in her closet; there are prominent empty spots on the dresser and in the bathroom where personal items used to be; and they can’t find her keys, wallet, phone, computer, or passport.

“Fuck,” Chloe says, standing in the living room. She rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands, before sliding her fingers up into her hair. “Ow, fuck,” she says again, when she encounters the knots and tangles that have accumulated in the — fourteen? fifteen hours? — since she last brushed it.

“This is just the way it goes sometimes, Chloe, you know that,” says Dan, when he notices what Chloe’s doing. “Don’t worry, we’ll track her down.”

“I know,” Chloe sighs. “I just hate this, being so close and losing out. I should’ve realized sooner, I should have come here quicker.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, she played us,” Dan reminds her. “And she was good at it.” 

“Still,” Chloe insists. “Maybe if Lucifer had been able to interview her, maybe he’d have caught something. Maybe—”

“Chloe,” Dan interrupts. “You don’t need him.”

Chloe sighs, but doesn’t say anything. She really doesn’t want to argue anymore. 

“Besides, she probably would have played him, too,” Dan goes on. “And, also, Lillian has boobs. So, even if he didn’t fall for it, I doubt he would have heard a word she said.”

“That’s not fair,” Chloe protests, but it’s half-hearted, because— well, this is Lucifer they’re talking about.

“We’ll get her in the morning, yeah?” Dan adds, patting her shoulder. “I’ll set up a BOLO, get a trace on her credit cards tonight. The night shift can take it from here.”

Chloe knows what he’s saying: he wants to go home. His shift ended at 11, so he’s already past that by a few minutes, and he wants to get out of here. Chloe can’t blame him; there’s nothing more that they can do tonight. And yet— 

“I can’t,” she hears herself say. “By morning she could be halfway around the world.”

“She won’t be,” Dan says, overly patient, “because other people can handle things sometimes.”

He has a familiar look in his eye that it takes Chloe a second to identify. As he turns away to speak with a uniformed officer, she realizes that it’s the same look he had when he insisted he could take care of things around the house, when he assured her that he’d be there to pick Trixie up, when he promised that he was on top of whatever case she left him with before she went to Rome. It’s judgemental, and borderline patronizing — calling her out for not trusting people when those same people have let her down time and again. 

On some level, Chloe gets it. She knows she’s a control freak, and she knows that trying to deal with her grief these last few months has only made it worse. She’s tried to use work to fill the gap that her partner left, and she hasn’t been successful, because she’s been trying to do it all solo — not trusting anyone as much as she trusted Lucifer. 

But today — today, she really can’t let it go. She can’t walk away now. She can’t. Because if she does.... If she does, she has to face what she’s been running away from for hours now.

She screwed it up. She yelled in his face and manipulated what she knows about his insecurities to hurt him. She practically ordered him to leave, and she all-but told him she’s better off without him. 

She’s not. She knows she’s not. But she said it anyway.

Chloe can’t stop replaying the argument in her head, torturing herself with fresh guilt each time. It’s like she’s stuck, like she’s already died and gone to Hell. Lucifer gave her a crash course in loops when he described how he found Dr. Carlisle earlier, and that’s how she feels now. What’s worse, she has a feeling that, when she does die, her words on the roof will be what she re-lives. She will hurt Lucifer over and over and over again, for all eternity. 

She shivers. She’s not so certain, anymore, that she’s not afraid of Hell. 

She wanders Lillian’s empty apartment, seeking a distraction. She finds it in a framed photograph on the bookshelf. It’s of Lillian and a man, kissing in front of a familiar building. The Corral, Chloe realizes after a second, and the man is— 

“Luke Torelli,” she says out loud. She picks it up with her gloved hands and sets off at once to find Dan. 

Dan’s in the bedroom, nodding along as a patrol officer shows him something on the dresser. He glances up when Chloe enters the room, and he frowns. She doesn’t let him start into whatever lecture he’s got waiting, though; she just holds up the picture. 

“You know this guy?” she asks. 

“Yeah, that’s the owner of the bar,” Dan answers. “Why?”

“Because you interviewed him two years ago for that so-called attempted suicide case,” Chloe tells him. “He confirmed the husband’s alibi.”

“He did?”

“Yes,” Chloe says shortly. “He also told you that the camera that would have given you proof that the husband was where he said he was wasn’t functional, so they didn’t have any tape to back it up. And yesterday he told me the same thing about the camera in the kitchen, so there’s no footage of Roberta, either.”

Realization dawns on Dan’s face. His eyes dart back to the picture in Chloe’s hands. “They’re in on it together,” he says. “If he’s lying about the camera, who knows what else? He could have been there when it happened.”

“Exactly,” Chloe agrees, thinking of how Lillian left the bar right after closing. How she could have then returned to the scene via the back door, because she distracted the convenience store clerk into looking the other direction. “Or if he wasn’t there, he might have helped her stage it after the fact.”

“We gotta find him,” Dan concludes.

Chloe nods and follows him out of the bedroom. They leave the scene in another officer’s hands and head straight to the car. 

While Dan drives, Chloe searches the DMV databases for Luke Torelli’s address. She finds it easily enough, but when they get to his house, there’s no answer at the door. No lights are on, and all the curtains are closed.

“Shit,” Chloe says vehemently. “We’re too late. Again.”

In her frustration, she kicks at a large rock on the porch. To her surprise, it flies several feet and lands in the grass with a strange, hollow clatter. Dan descends the steps to pick it up. 

“It’s plastic,” he says, turning it over. “And it’s hollow. It’s a key hider,” he adds, opening a compartment on the bottom. He extracts a silver key and holds it up. 

Chloe stares at the key, which glints orange in the streetlight. She shouldn’t.

Dan’s eyes are on her, waiting for a sign. She really shouldn’t.

Dammit, she misses Lucifer. He’d have no qualms about walking into a suspect’s house. He wouldn’t even use the key, he’d just do whatever it is he does when faced with a lock, and the door would open for him. 

She can practically hear him whispering in her ear. _Come on, Detective. What’s a little breaking and entering when you’re trying to punish a murderer?_

 _Suspected murderer,_ she corrects him silently. _Possible suspected murderer._

“Put it back,” she tells Dan. “We’ll find another way.”

She knows she isn’t imagining the relief in Dan’s eyes as he replaces the key and sets the fake rock back down on the porch. 

“I’ll do another BOLO, and see if we can get a search warrant for this place,” he says. 

All indications that he wants to call it a night have vanished since Chloe told him of Luke’s involvement in his old case. He’s animated, he wants to catch the guy, and it’s a relief; Chloe still doesn’t want to go home.

She nods. “We should check The Corral, in case he went back there. I kinda doubt it, but—”

“No, that’s good thinking,” Dan agrees. He’s typing furiously on his phone, but he pulls out his car keys again and hands them to her. “You head there now, I’m getting back-up for both of us.”

“You— you want to split up?” Chloe asks, surprised.

Dan looks up. “I think we should,” he says. “I’ll hold here in case he comes back, you hold there in case he goes there. Back-up’s coming, but this way nothing gets missed.”

“Yeah,” Chloe says. She has a bad feeling, but Dan’s right — they can’t leave one scene unmanned. “Okay, I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Be careful,” Dan says, holding her eye a moment longer than necessary. Chloe has a flashback to the early days of their marriage; they always said goodbye like this.

“As long as you will, too,” she says, because that’s the line, well-worn in her memory. 

Dan nods, and Chloe heads to the car by herself.

* * *

Traffic is light, as it’s almost midnight, so she gets to The Corral in no time. She parks in a shadowy spot across the street and assesses the building. The yellow tape that criss-crosses the front door flutters in a slight breeze. It’s still an active crime scene, and therefore closed to customers, but no officers are working it this late. 

Chloe unbuckles her seatbelt, then hesitates. The bar looks dark and deserted, but she still shouldn’t go in without back-up. 

For one visceral moment, she allows herself to miss Lucifer again. She takes a deep breath, telling herself that she can’t actually smell his cologne — he was never in this car today, so it’s just her imagination again. 

Nearly five minutes pass in silence. Chloe breathes, and Chloe waits, and Chloe doesn’t let herself think about him anymore.

“Where the hell is my back-up?” she whispers eventually.

As if in reply, headlights appear in her rear-view mirror. The approaching vehicle is moving fast, and brakes in a hurry to turn into the parking lot of The Corral. It comes to a halt in front of the bar’s entrance with a squeal, and a man jumps out of the driver’s seat almost before the car stops moving. He glances around before he ducks under the tape and unlocks the front door. Chloe gets a glimpse of him in the light — it’s Luke, and he’s got a gun.

“Shit,” Chloe says, as Luke disappears into the building. She gets on the radio at once and reports what she saw. 

It’s an agonizing ten seconds before dispatch responds, telling her that two units are en route. Their ETA is seven minutes, but Chloe can’t wait that long. She tells the radio she’s going, and gets out of the car before dispatch can answer.

She opens the door to the bar as quietly as she can. The sounds of a hushed argument between a man and a woman are coming from the back.

“I just need a little more cash,” the woman is saying. Chloe recognizes Lillian’s voice. “I don’t have enough to get out of here.”

“Bullshit,” Luke answers. “You mean to tell me you cleaned out Bobbie’s savings account, but you don’t have enough for a plane ticket? Where’d the money go?”

“I didn’t—”

“You’re sick, Lillian. You know that, right? Normal people don’t lie like this. Normal people don’t take advantage of people like this.”

“Please, I just—”

“I believed you when you said it was an accident. I believed you when you said you didn’t mean to kill her. I helped you clean it up. And this is how you repay me? By cleaning me out, too?”

Lillian keeps begging for more time, more money, while Chloe inches closer, ducking low to stay out of sight behind the bar. She checks her watch — three minutes have passed, it’ll be another four till back-up’s here. 

She carefully rounds the corner, she can see the kitchen door now. It’s open, and she can see Luke’s back. His gun is held low, pointed at the ground, which makes Chloe breathe a little easier, even with the adrenaline coursing through her.

“I ought to turn you in,” Luke says. “I don’t know why I didn’t do that right away.”

“Because you love me,” says Lillian. Her tone couldn’t be more different than it was a moment ago — she sounds almost sultry, and Luke, to Chloe’s surprise, falls for it.

“I do,” Luke tells her. “Goddammit, I wish sometimes I didn’t.”

“That’s not true, baby,” Lillian replies, smoother than silk. “You know that’s not true. You need me, I need you.”

“You need me to clean up after you,” Luke retorts, but it’s playful, like he really doesn’t mind.

“What would I do without you?” Lillian purrs.

Luke moves forward, they embrace. Chloe stands while their guard is lowered and steps into view, puts her hand on her holster, but— 

But she’s too slow, she’s too late — again — and Luke and Lillian are already pulling apart when Lillian sees her. 

Lillian reacts too fast, far too fast for Chloe to track, but she ends up with Luke as a human shield and Luke’s gun pointed straight at Chloe.

 _Fuck,_ thinks Chloe. She lifts her hand away from her weapon; it’s as useless as a three-dollar bill now. _Fuck, fuck, f—_

Time seems to slow, the way it does in a crisis. Chloe hears a yell, and something — a tall, grey blur — appears in front of her. Before she can react, Lillian pulls the trigger, and Lucifer — _Lucifer, what is Lucifer doing here?!_ — jerks when the bullet hits him. 

Chloe watches Lucifer’s eyes go wide with surprise, with pain. His mouth falls open. His pale blue pocket square starts to turn black with blood. He blinks down at it, then back at her, and Chloe watches him fall. Chloe falls with him, down on her knees beside him.

“You’ve got to quit doing that,” she says without thinking. Time is speeding again, the stain on Lucifer’s chest is spreading fast — too fast. She presses down on it as hard as she can. 

“Yes, well,” Lucifer says, but he has no color in his face, and his eyes close before he can finish his sentence. 

“Lucifer!” Chloe cries, shaking his shoulder. “No, no, no, stay with me. Lucifer!”

He doesn’t stir. Back-up’s still at least two minutes away, and who knows how much longer before they can scramble an ambulance. Chloe does the only thing she can: she prays.

“Amenadiel!” she screams at the ceiling. She squeezes her eyes shut, and thinks as hard as she can, pushing her thoughts urgently in his direction. 

_Amenadiel! God! Whoever! You have to save him, please, he’s dying!_

Within seconds, Amenadiel arrives in a rustle of wind and wings. His bare chest and navy blue pyjama pants do nothing to detract from the awe-inspiring sight. He takes in the scene at a glance and kneels beside his brother.

“What happened?” he asks, getting his hands on Lucifer. “Luci, can you hear me?”

“He’s bleeding out too fast,” Chloe tells Amenadiel. “You have to get him away from me, now. Please!”

“Yes,” Amenadiel agrees. He scoops Lucifer up into his arms at once. With a flap of his massive grey wings, he’s gone without so much as another word. 

Chloe inhales a ragged breath and tries to tell herself it’s going to be okay, even as her heart pounds in rhythm with the words — the prayer — she’s still chanting in her mind.

_God, don’t let him die. Don’t let him die, God, don’t—_

“Whoa,” says a voice.

_I get it if You’re mad at me, but please don’t punish him for it. Don’t let him die, God, please—_

“What the fuck was that?” says another.

_Please, I’m sorry, please, please—_

There’s a crash from behind her. “Police!” a man shouts. “Detective Decker?”

Chloe jumps, startled. Her face is wet, hot lines of tears that have salted her lips. She raises a hand to wipe them away, sees that her palms are drenched in blood. Lucifer’s blood.

“Back here,” she answers, shaking herself into motion. She gets to her feet, grabs a towel off the kitchen counter and rubs her hands as clean as she can, ignoring the wide-eyed stares of Luke and Lillian, who are thankfully still too stunned from witnessing something Divine to shoot at her again. 

Chloe’s managed to throw the towel into the trash and she’s handcuffing Lillian by the time the patrol officers find her. 

“Anyone hurt?” one of them asks. He lowers his weapon when Chloe shakes her head, and he cuffs Luke as well. 

“The guy in the suit was,” says Lillian. Chloe realizes she’s in tears, her flawless makeup from this morning is now smudged and smeared. “He came from nowhere! I shot him, I think I killed him, an angel came and took him away!”

“What’s she talking about, Decker?” the officer asks. “Somebody get shot?”

“I think she’s a pathological liar,” Chloe answers.

It’s the truth, but only part of it, and the only part she can bear to tell right now. Maybe this is why Lucifer omits so much.

 _Please, God, tell me he’s all right._

“Chloe!” she hears. She turns to see Dan rushing towards her. “We never should have split up,” he says, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I had back-up,” Chloe replies — again, omitting a couple of key details. 

As the officers take control of the scene, she wants nothing more than to speed off to Amenadiel’s house, or Lux, or wherever he took Lucifer, but she can’t. For one thing, it’s dangerous for Chloe to be around him right now, and for another, she can’t disappear, not when Dan and all of these officers are watching. And she can’t fall apart again, either. 

_Please survive this, Lucifer. Please, I need you to be okay. I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you’re not._

She would know by now, wouldn’t she, if he’d d—? 

She can’t even think it. Amenadiel, or Maze, or someone would have told her by now, right? And even if they didn’t, wouldn’t she have felt it somehow? Wouldn’t she just... know? 

But she doesn’t, and there’s nothing more she can do right now, besides keep praying. To anyone and everyone who might be listening.


	12. Chapter 12

It’s well after two by the time the case is finally wrapped up. Or _cases,_ she should say, as Luke helps them connect the dots between the attempted suicide two years ago and Roberta’s death two nights ago.

He talks at length, explaining how Lillian was blackmailing Roberta about her relationship with Tim, how Roberta was threatening to go to the cops if she didn’t stop, how they argued all night when they closed the bar together, and how the gun got pulled out right after they locked the door.

“Lillian said Roberta took it out, and that shooting her was an accident,” Luke says, “but I’m not so sure. It didn’t look like an accident on the surveillance tape.”

“So the camera isn’t broken,” Chloe says. Luke shakes his head. “Do you still have the footage?”

Luke nods. “Yeah, it’s on a hard drive at home. Same as the dining room angle from the night Billy was there. Should’ve deleted it.”

Billy is the name of the husband in the so-called attempted suicide case two years ago — someone that Chloe very much looks forward to arresting. 

“She messed up,” Luke continues. “She panicked. She called me, freaking out, because she walked away after it happened, and she got locked out. I told her to drive off, then come back around behind the building, wait for me out back where there’s a blind spot. I don’t know why she went through the store. I guess she wasn’t thinking clearly.”

“Then you came and helped her clean it up?” Dan prompts.

Luke nods again, his eyes downcast with shame. “I did what Billy did two years ago. I cleaned under her nails, I wiped the gun, I made sure her notebook was there with her in the storage room, and I stole the footage. Then Lillian and me, we got our stories straight: no matter what, it was Tim’s fault.” He chuckles humorlessly. “I almost believed that, until tonight.”

“Why’d you help her?” Chloe has to ask. “You had to know that if you did that, she’d take you down with her.”

Luke doesn’t argue. “Yeah,” he says simply, tiredly. “But what else could I do? I love her, even though she’s messed up. I know she treats me like garbage. I know she’s using me, and I know I’m just enabling her. But...”

Dan and Chloe exchange a look. They’re losing the thread here, and fast. “What was your reasoning for covering up the crime two years ago?” Dan asks, to get them back on track.

Luke takes a deep breath and explains that Billy had powerful friends who pressured him to verify the alibi and to lie to the police about the surveillance footage. Who these powerful friends are, he either doesn’t know or won’t say, but he tells them enough that Chloe can probably verify some things independently and make some bigger arrests down the line. 

For now, Luke is under arrest for his role in Roberta’s death, while Lillian is facing a manslaughter charge, at minimum. Chloe’s sure that it will be upped to murder — second, or perhaps even first-degree — before too long. Luke’s got the footage, and he’s said more than enough to provide a motive. Plus, she’s on the record as being dishonest, with several false statements to her name. 

And, given the way she’s now ranting about a man in a suit appearing from nowhere and an angel descending from the sky, Chloe doubts any jury is gonna believe that the woman who cried angel is telling the truth about shooting Roberta by accident in the middle of an argument. 

When Luke is done confessing, Chloe follows the patrol officer leading him to the holding cell, even though her supervision really isn’t necessary. She fakes needing to tie her shoe to buy time while the officer walks away, and as she straightens up, she assesses Luke through the bars. 

“Whatever you think you saw tonight,” she begins, but he interrupts her.

“I know what I saw,” he says with quiet reverence. “It was an angel of the Lord. God sent him to tell me to change my ways.”

Chloe flashes back to what Lucifer said earlier, about how some humans react to the Divine by falling into what he called _holy madness._ She also can’t help but be reminded of to her conversations with Father Kinley; she was standing in this same spot, listening to similar religious babble, after she’d arrested him for conspiring to commit murder. That feels like a lifetime ago now. 

“Yeah,” she replies awkwardly. “About that—”

“I need to do right,” Luke goes on. “I need to strive to be a righteous man. I’ve fallen, but I can make amends.”

“Oh,” says Chloe. That explains why he was being so cooperative, at least.

“The Lord has given me a second chance,” Luke adds, his eyes cast upwards. “I can be forgiven.”

“Okay,” Chloe says after a moment, because she doesn’t know what else she can say. “Um. Good talk.”

Luke, still looking dazed, turns away, kneeling in front of the small cot. His muttered prayers follow Chloe out. 

She ducks into the ladies’ room, needing a quiet moment alone before she goes... wherever she’s going next. Home? Lux? She hasn’t had any news about Lucifer, maybe she should call Amenadiel. 

She studies her exhausted-looking reflection in the dirty mirror and sighs. She has no idea what to do now, except sleep. She really needs to sleep. 

Home, then. She’ll get a cab, call Amenadiel en route for an update. It’s unlikely she’ll be able to see Lucifer any time soon, but now that his supernatural healing factor has kicked in, maybe he’ll be okay enough that she can talk to him in the morning. Even if he’s still recovering, maybe, hopefully, she can at least see him before he— before.... 

“Hiya,” says a voice from behind her. 

Chloe whirls, startled, and finds a familiar young woman standing behind her. A young woman with short dark hair and glasses, who just appeared out of nowhere, and who’s wearing a black graphic tee and faded jeans, and— 

_Oh, no. God, please, no—_

Chloe’s eyes flood with tears, her legs are collapsing under her. “He’s d—” she chokes through a sob. She can’t even say the word, it can’t be—

Azrael’s eyes go wide behind her glasses. “Oh! Shoot! No!” she cries, rushing forward to catch Chloe when she sags. “No, he’s fine! Lucifer’s fine, I promise! He’s okay! He’s not dead! He’s— oh, my— _Dad,_ I really didn’t think about how it would look, me coming here. Amenadiel should’ve done this part, I’m so sorry, Chloe.”

The news is a relief, but Chloe’s heart is still racing, she’s still panicking, so she takes a breath and throws her eyes around the room for things to ground her. The fluorescent lights seem dim, probably because she’s not used to being in here without daylight coming in through the windows. She focuses on the feel of Azrael’s hands on her arms. Her touch is ice cold, even through Chloe’s blouse. It’s making her shudder, but she fights through it and manages to breathe herself calm again. 

“Okay, good,” she says finally, extracting herself and stepping back. For some reason, she doesn’t particularly want to be close to Azrael. “Thanks.”

“Sorry,” the Angel of Death says again. “And sorry for the—” She waves a hand vaguely. “I’ll go incorporeal again, it’s easier on you that way.”

Nothing about Azrael seems to change, but the lights overhead brighten, and it feels like the temperature in the room climbs several degrees. Chloe stops shivering. 

“Are you all right?” Azrael asks. 

“Yeah,” Chloe nods. “He’s okay?”

Azrael smiles fondly. “He’s okay,” she repeats. “He needs a little more time to heal completely, but he’s out of the woods at least.”

“That’s good,” Chloe says. She feels a tear slip down her cheek. “That’s so good, I’m glad.”

Azrael hesitates, then says, “You don’t seem glad.”

“It’s just... this day,” Chloe explains, wiping her eyes. “This has truly been the Wednesday from Hell. Or, well, I guess it’s Thursday now, but still.”

Azrael gives her a sympathetic smile. “I know,” she says. “And, for what it’s worth, it wasn’t my idea.”

Chloe frowns, confused. “What wasn’t?”

But Azrael has a familiar expression on her face, one that Chloe recognizes from her conversation with Amenadiel earlier. 

“You can’t tell me,” she guesses. “Your Dad won’t let you.”

“He’s kind of a stickler that way,” Azrael agrees. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Chloe sighs. “I’m kinda getting used to this whole _Divine Unsolved Mysteries_ thing.”

“Not easy for a detective,” Azrael says wryly. 

“It’s not,” Chloe admits, then something occurs to her. “That’s why you won’t tell Ella who you are, isn’t it?”

Azrael looks surprised but pleased. She nods. “Ella doesn’t rest until she has all the answers. It’s one of my favorite things about her. But it also means that she wouldn’t give up trying to prove it if I told her even part of the truth.”

“How do you handle it?” Chloe asks. “Knowing that she can never know?” When Azrael doesn’t answer, she adds, “You’re so beyond her, beyond us. Why bother getting to know us at all?”

Azrael tilts her head slightly, like she’s considering the question. “Your time is so short,” she says, with the wisdom and gravitas of an ancient, immortal being. “Both in general, and more specifically today. Are you sure this is how you want to spend the last few hours before my Father’s deadline?”

Chloe exhales, shakes her head. “No. I suppose not.”

“Good,” Azrael says, cheerful again. “Because Lu wants to see you.”

“Is that—” Chloe begins, but she corrects herself. “That’s not safe. I make him vulnerable, remember?”

“Yeah, he explained the whole DIDV thing,” Azrael says with a slight roll of her eyes at the name. “But he also said he’s healed enough, and if he isn’t, then _we’ll damn well stand a mile apart and use bloody FaceTime,”_ Azrael concludes, in an imitation of his accent that’s almost as terrible as Chloe’s. 

Chloe chuckles. “Okay,” she says, but she’s hesitant, and Azrael notices. 

“He just wants to talk,” she says.

“Is he mad?” Chloe asks, the question coming out before she can stop it.

“Maybe,” Azrael replies, which isn’t very reassuring until she smiles and adds, “But not at you.”

“Okay,” Chloe says again. She runs her hands over her face and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Tell him I’ll be there in a bit. I have to get a taxi, or sign a car out from the pool, since he broke mine, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

“Oh no, you don’t understand,” says Azrael. “I heard you can handle these things, so—”

“What things?”

With a quiet rush of moment, Azrael’s wings unfold behind her. They’re not white like Lucifer’s, nor grey like Amenadiel’s. They are something else entirely — a shadowy shade that seems to fade out of sight if she looks away. 

“I’m here to give you a ride,” Azrael finishes with a grin. “If you want,” she adds, hesitating when Chloe just stares at her. “Or— I know it’s not exactly comfortable. I can get Amenadiel here instead, if you’d rather.”

Chloe’s ashamed to admit that she’s tempted to take her up on the offer, thinking of how cold Azrael’s hands were, and how the world seemed greyer when she was touching her. 

“I won’t— it won’t hurt me, if...”

“If you take a ride with Death?” Azrael finishes, with a knowing look. “I promise, you’re safe. It’s not your time yet, so even if I wanted to, there’s no way I could take you away from here.” 

“Oh. Okay,” says Chloe. She nods. “Yeah. Let’s go.” 

Azrael smiles at her again, and suddenly everything changes. The room grows dimmer and colder. Azrael’s casual clothes transform into a dark-colored robe, and leather bracers appear on her forearms. Her glasses disappear, and there’s a kind of fire in her dark eyes. Not the same as Lucifer’s, but just as awe-inspiring, and, in the right context, probably terrifying.

“Whoa,” Chloe breathes. She feels unworthy, miniscule in the face of Azrael’s Divinity. 

Azrael laughs a little, like she’s embarrassed. “You can still change your mind,” she says. 

Her voice is like macabre music, a mournful minor chord that resonates in Chloe’s chest. Chloe shakes her head; she doesn’t trust herself to speak again.

Azrael steps closer — she’s so small that even Chloe is taller than her, but she’s enormous at the same time. And strong. She picks Chloe up with ease, carrying her bridal-style in her cold, steady hands. 

“Hang on tight,” she says. “Wouldn’t want to drop you between dimensions.”

“What?” Chloe squawks, but a second later the world goes blurry. Her stomach lurches, and she squeezes her eyes shut. 

When she opens them a second later, they’re in an underground parking lot. Chloe all-but throws herself out of Azrael’s arms. She hunches over the pavement, certain she’s about to vomit. 

It takes her a long minute to get herself under control, and when she stands up, Azrael asks if she’s okay. 

Chloe turns. the Angel of Death has changed back into the young woman she saw before; just a friend of Ella’s, Lucifer’s human-seeming little sister — Rae-Rae once more. 

“Yeah,” Chloe answers her. “I think so.” She looks around, realizes where they are when she sees Lucifer’s Corvette. “Did you bring me to the garage first because you thought I might puke?” 

Azrael laughs. “No, but that’s a good reason, too.” The lights overhead flicker as she goes corporeal again and tugs a phone out of her pocket. “Let me just text Amenadiel. We’re testing the whole DIDV thing — we don’t know how close is _close_ where you’re concerned, but if Lu takes a downturn, I wanna know ASAP, so I can get you outta here.”

For some reason, it strikes Chloe as funny that the Angel of Death is texting and speaking in acronyms, but she holds back her laughter, because another thought occurs to her. 

“Do you know _why_ Lucifer can get hurt when I’m around?” It’s doubtful that Azrael can tell her even if she knows, but Chloe has to ask. 

“Not really, no,” Azrael replies, still texting. “I mean, aside from Lu’s theory, which is pretty solid. But we don’t have any real proof.”

Chloe frowns. This is the first she’s hearing of a theory to explain his vulnerability; he hadn’t brought it up the one and only time they discussed it. Looking back on the conversation now, Chloe can see the mistake she made. She hadn’t asked if he’d had any ideas about what might be causing it; she’d only asked why it was happening, and he’d told her the truth: he didn’t know. Not with certainty, anyway.

“Lucifer has a theory?” she says.

Azrael looks up in alarm. Her phone dings in her hand, but her wide eyes are locked on Chloe. “Um,” she says.

Chloe gives her an out. She’s not sure if she wants to hear it from someone else, anyway. “It’s okay, never mind. I’m sure he’ll tell me when he’s ready.”

“Yeah,” Azrael agrees, relaxing at once. “Yeah, okay.” She looks back at her phone, then gestures towards the door. “I think we’re good to go up. Might have to take an emergency exit out of the elevator if something changes, but—” 

“Let’s hope not,” says Chloe, punching her code into the door to unlock it. “No offense.”

Azrael laughs. “None taken. You weren’t really built for flying, after all.”

 _What was I built for?_ Chloe wonders, but she doesn’t ask it out loud. 

She wishes the ride to the penthouse was longer, because now that she’s here, she’s realizing that she has no idea what she’s going to say to Lucifer, or how she’s even going to begin to apologize and make things right between them. 

But, because time is not on her side today, it feels like only a few short seconds before they reach the top floor and she has to scan her thumbprint to open the elevator doors. She steps cautiously into the dim, familiar space — the space that has felt haunted for months, the space that she never likes to visit unless she has to, because, like so many things in her life, it’s just not right without Lucifer here. 

Thankfully, she can hear him, his voice a low rumble in the other room. She can’t make out what he’s saying, but she catches her name, and something that sounds like _We’ll see._

“Lu?” calls Azrael, following Chloe a few steps into the penthouse. “Everything okay?”

“I’m not dying, if that’s what you’re asking,” Lucifer answers, but it’s Amenadiel that appears in the entrance to Lucifer’s bedroom and descends the steps. He’s wearing a t-shirt now, but he’s still in his pyjama bottoms. He smiles cautiously at Chloe.

“He’s going to be fine,” he says, answering her unspoken question. “I’m glad you called for me when you did.”

Chloe nods, but she doesn’t speak. Amenadiel looks past her and jerks his head slightly at his sister. 

“Okay,” says Azrael, like he’s said something else — and maybe he did; this prayer business seems a lot like telepathy, after all.

Together, she and Amenadiel go to the elevator. “Call us if you need us,” Amenadiel says. 

“Good luck,” Azrael adds, as the doors start to close in front of her.

 _That’s the second time someone’s told me that today,_ Chloe thinks, not without some apprehension. 

But she can’t waste time on that right now. There’s something much more important that she needs to do. She takes a deep breath and turns around. Puts one foot in front of the other until she’s climbed the steps to Lucifer’s bedroom. 

He’s sitting up, propped with pillows against the leather headboard, shirtless with a bulky bandage over the left side of his chest. A glass of whiskey is on the bedside table to his right. 

His eyes find hers as she crosses the threshold, and he smiles slightly. He’s paler than usual, but he looks more like someone a week after surgery than a few hours after what should have been a fatal gunshot wound.

“Detective,” he greets her, and she honestly can’t glean anything from the word. He could be calm and amiable, or coldly polite and furious.

She decides to act as if it’s the latter, and starts with an apology. “I’m so sorry,” she says, with no preamble. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“Detective,” Lucifer says again, but Chloe holds up a hand. He falls silent to let her finish. 

“I shouldn’t have accused you of manipulating Trixie,” she goes on. “I shouldn’t have implied that you were selfish for coming here, or for leaving in the first place. I shouldn’t have asked you to take me with you. I know that you can’t.”

Lucifer looks away and doesn’t respond. 

“And I don’t wish you hadn’t come here,” Chloe concludes. She frowns at the double negative, too tired to know if it made sense. She tries again. “I’m glad you’re here today, and I’m sorry I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t fuck anything up,” Lucifer says. He swears so rarely that it makes Chloe smile a little despite the circumstances. He notices and reaches for her, then hisses with pain and draws his arm back. 

“Come closer?” he says instead, with a hopeful expression. “Please?”

Chloe finds she can’t deny him. She sits on his good side, the edges of their shoulders just barely touching. 

“Well, even if I didn’t fuck it up, I’m sorry I hurt you,” Chloe tells him. “I’ve just been so angry, and— but that was uncalled for.”

Lucifer takes her hand and intertwines their fingers. “I knew today would be hard for you,” he says, leaning into her until his stubble rasps against her hair. “I’m not surprised you took it out on me.”

“Still sorry,” says Chloe. 

“And I still don’t want you in Hell, but you were right,” Lucifer says. “I don’t just get to decide things. Not where you’re concerned, anyhow.”

Chloe isn’t sure how to respond to that, so she doesn’t say a word. 

“And, as much as it pains me to admit it, I think my Father was right, too,” he adds after a moment.

“Right about what?” Chloe asks.

She isn’t shocked when he doesn’t answer. He lifts his hand out of hers and raises his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. She lets herself fall into his warmth and closes her eyes. She takes a deep breath, trying to soak him in, so that when he’s gone her skin will still carry these traces of him.

“Thank you for saving my life,” she tells him softly. “Again.”

“Well, as I started to say before the massive blood loss caught up with me, I can’t take a trip to Earth and _not_ get shot,” Lucifer says, with a hint of his usual humor. 

Chloe huffs a breath that’s almost a laugh. “It’s basically tradition at this point.”

Lucifer hums in agreement. He buries his nose in her hair. The sensation sends a pleasant chill along her neck and spine. 

“Can you forgive me?” she asks. Small and needy once again, she needs to hear the words. She needs to know she hasn’t completely ruined his last day on Earth. 

“Darling, I already have,” Lucifer murmurs. 

Relief runs through her like rain off a roof, and it feels natural to turn her head and lay a kiss across his lips. 

It’s light at first, her tongue just barely slipping out, but soon she’s diving a little deeper, seeking a little more. She wants him to feel good. She wants to end this day with pleasure, she wants to make everything up to him. 

He tries again to reach for her with his left arm, but she pushes it away, holds it down against the mattress. His response is immediate and eager, moaning quietly into her mouth. A plan is forming in Chloe’s mind, even as he’s trying to take control. 

She pulls back at once, denying him. “You’re hurt,” she says. “Don’t move.”

His eyes darken, his pupils expanding with naked want. He would normally argue, but she watches him choose not to — he chooses to submit to her, chooses to obey. 

Power ripples through her, leaving her tingling like an electric current. If only they had more time — why had she refused him when he first arrived? They could have been doing this all day.

She lifts one leg over him, turns so she’s straddling him fully. His good hand rests on her thigh, and the other lies at his side, exactly where she put it a moment ago. She reaches back, up under her shirt, and unclasps her bra with a sigh of relief. He watches her fingers unbutton her blouse, and he exhales with a smile when the shirt comes off entirely. His good hand slides up her bare skin, and she carefully ducks down, enclosing their faces in the curtain of her hair. Their lips meet again, her tongue finds his; she savors the sweet leftover burn of his whiskey. 

Then his thumb skates over her hard nipple, sending a jolt of arousal through her whole body. She gasps into his mouth. Without meaning to, she rocks her hips forward, chasing the touch. He moves with her, then hisses through his teeth.

When she opens her eyes, he’s wincing. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Not your fault,” he replies at once. “I’m the one who stepped in front of a lying murderess with a gun.”

Chloe shivers at the memory, but refuses to let it overwhelm her. She kisses him once more, light and quick before she pulls back. “This isn’t quite what I wanted to do anyway,” she tells him.

He only has a moment to frown at her in confusion before she’s crawling backwards, kissing the good side of his chest as she goes. He twitches when her tongue grazes his nipple — turnabout’s fair play, after all — but she moves on before he can hurt himself again. 

She reaches the waistband of his pants — silky lounge pants, thankfully, so no need to fuss with belts and zippers — and slips her fingers under the elastic edge. 

“Can I?” she asks, kissing his navel before she looks up to see his answer. 

He nods, a little shakily, and she tugs his pants down to finally get a good look at what she’s only seen in glimpses before. His cock is long and uncut, beautifully hard, wet at the tip. Her mouth waters, her tongue darts out to moisten her lips. It’s been ages since she did this, but she’s ready — she wants it like she’s rarely allowed herself to want anything before. 

Lucifer is watching her, uncharacteristically silent. His good hand makes its way to her cheek, her ear, her hair. It settles at the base of her skull, not pushing, just holding, leaving the choice — as ever — up to her. 

She closes her lips around the head of his cock. She settles one hand at the base and gives the tip a light, teasing suck, just pulling his taste onto her tongue. He breathes out, and her name is buried in it somewhere. She closes her eyes, takes him a little deeper, until her lips meet her fist. She holds him here — it feels so right, having him inside her, even in this small way — until his fingers tighten ever so slightly at the back of her head. Then she goes to work. 

She listens to his body, watches his every reaction. She fondles his balls while she licks at the tip, and he sighs. She hollows her cheeks and breathes through her nose, sucking hard: he presses his lips into a thin firm line. She takes him as deep as she can, relaxing her throat, and he throws his head back, revealing that tiny scar that interrupts the stubble on his chin. She swallows around him, and he gasps before he pulls her up with one arm. 

“You’re too bloody far away,” he mumbles, the words blurring together before their mouths blur together, too. His hand moves between them, and she realizes too late that he’s trying to get her pants open.

“Hey,” she manages, nudging his hand away. “No, it’s all right, just— just let me do this for you.”

He pulls back and blinks at her. She’s momentarily distracted by the length of his eyelashes, but it’s obvious he recognizes his own words from this afternoon. 

“You don’t owe me for earlier,” he says. “There’s no need—”

“I know,” Chloe replies. She reaches down and finds his cock again, still wet and oh, so warm. He inhales rather sharply at her touch. “I want...” 

She loses her courage and lets herself trail off, but he won’t stand for that, and lifts her hand away. “You want what?” he asks. 

Chloe swallows hard. “Ask it right,” she says, and she forces herself to look him in the eye.

It only takes Lucifer a second to catch on. “Very well,” he says. He tilts his head the way he always does, and asks, “Tell me, what is it you truly desire?”

There’s no supernatural pull, no undeniable impulse to answer truthfully, but if she tries, she can almost imagine it enough to speak as if there is.

“I want to give you as much pleasure as I can,” she says. “I want to make you come. And I want to watch every second of it.”

A familiar smirk settles over his features. “Well,” he says, “far be it for me to stand in the way of your wishes.”

She licks her lips and makes to go back down, but he stops her. “Counter offer?” he says. “Stay up here and kiss me, and I’ll lend a helping hand.”

He jerks his head towards the bedside table. She leans over and opens the bottom drawer to find a bottle of lubricant. She thinks about it for all of three seconds — she can’t deny him, of course she can’t deny him — then squeezes a little into both their hands. 

She bends down a moment later to find his lips again. Their hands entangle around his cock, warm and slippery, and together they find a rhythm. He provides the bass, jerking himself off slow and steady, while she improvises a melody, caressing the tip, sliding her thumb over the slit, circling the sensitive foreskin — all while his tongue dances in her mouth. 

She can tell he’s getting close when his kisses get sloppy; he’s losing the ability to multitask, and Chloe feels that twinge of power again, to know that she’s responsible for doing this to him — to someone with literal superhuman capabilities. She redoubles her efforts, lowers her mouth to his ear and neck, watches the goosebumps rise on his skin. 

His breathing quickens, his legs shift restlessly under her. Chloe puts her hand above his and together they pick up the pace. She lets the head of his cock slide, tight and wet, between two of her fingers, and he bites his lower lip, a sound like a whimper escaping his throat. 

“That’s it,” Chloe hears herself say. “Oh my— Lucifer, that’s good, you’re so good, let me see it. Let me—”

“Chloe,” he says, breathless and broken open. 

She watches the orgasm hit him, watches his eyes squeeze shut and his mouth contort, his chest heave. She watches the sweat on his forehead shimmer in the lamplight, notices the frizz at the roots of his hair, the slight curl that’s threatening to break free. 

Then she watches his head roll back, watches the tension leave his shoulders, watches his dark eyes eventually open again and settle on her. 

“Chloe,” he says again. 

They trade soft kisses for long minutes, until she yawns involuntarily, unexpectedly. 

“Sorry,” she whispers. “Long day.” 

He laughs under his breath as she sits up. She extracts her sticky hand from his. She casts her eyes around the room for a tissue before she remembers the square of red fabric that’s still in her pocket. 

It’s ruined anyway, she thinks, so she pulls it out, but before she can wipe her hands, Lucifer grabs her wrist, even though he has to reach across with his left hand to do so, and it obviously hurts. 

“What is— why do you have that?” he asks. All traces of his afterglow have disappeared.

“I don’t really know,” Chloe replies honestly, lifting his hand and laying it at his side again. “I took it from your suit earlier, and I’ve been carrying it around all day.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Lucifer says. He’s eyeing the cloth like he wants to snatch it away from her.“You shouldn’t touch it, it’s covered in—”

“Hell dirt?” Chloe suggests.

“Well... yes,” Lucifer answers slowly. “The ash, it’s not safe for living humans to be exposed to it.”

Chloe cocks her head. “You left some in the precinct this morning,” she points out.

“Trace amounts, on the floor, where it would be swept up in a matter of hours,” Lucifer corrects her, sounding mildly agitated now. “Also, it’s not like anyone is eating off the precinct floor.”

Chloe half-laughs. “I’m not going to eat it, Lucifer, relax,” she says. “Besides, I breathed a bunch of it in earlier, and I’m fine, so—”

His eyes go wide with shock. “You what?!” he exclaims.

“I’m fine,” Chloe reiterates. “It just made me sneeze a couple times, gave me a scratchy throat, but I’m all right. I promise.”

He doesn’t look convinced, and he takes the pocket square. He throws it into a corner of the room, even though the movement causes him to grimace in pain again.

“Lucifer, what the hell?” Chloe asks. She’s too tired and confused to formulate a more articulate question than that. 

“Indeed,” Lucifer mutters. “There’s wet wipes in the drawer,” he adds after a moment.

Chloe eyes him curiously, but it’s clear that he doesn’t want to discuss it anymore. She sighs and gets to her feet, pulls out the wipes and cleans them both up. The cool moisture, along with being away from his warmth, makes her shiver, her bare nipples stiffening unexpectedly. 

“Help yourself to the closet, love, if you’re cold,” Lucifer says, like an apology.

She crosses the room to do just that, fighting back another yawn. Her watch tells her it’s almost four; Lucifer’s deadline is only six hours away, and she’s exhausted. 

She takes off her slacks and lets them fall to the ground. She chooses the shirt she wants — the one that he’ll no doubt be unhappy about — and quickly puts it on.

As she expected, he scowls when he sees her in the white shirt he wore to Hell, but she raises a challenging eyebrow, and he backs down.

“Why?” is all he asks.

“It smells like you,” she answers simply, sitting down beside him. 

She picks up her phone from the bedside table and sends an email to her superiors, calling in sick, since there’s no way she’s going to make her 8AM shift. She also texts Maze, asks her if she can drop Trixie off at school, then sets an alarm — she wants to make sure that she gets a little more time with Lucifer before his twenty-four hours are up.

When she’s finished, she sets her phone down. Lucifer is lying on his back now, watching her. She turns off the light and slides under the silky sheet beside him. He lifts his good arm again, and she slips beneath it, rests her head on his chest. 

“I’m so tired,” she confesses, as her eyes close without her permission. “But I don’t want to sleep, either.”

“I’m fairly certain there’s still some cocaine behind the bar if you’re desperate,” Lucifer replies. 

Chloe laughs in surprise. “No, thank you.”

He kisses her forehead, rubs her shoulder. There’s a moment of silence — Chloe feels herself sinking towards sleep, but she fights it off. She opens her eyes again, reaches over and fingers the edges of his bandage. 

“Think this could buy us a little more time?” she asks, only half-joking. “You can’t go back if you’re hurt, right? You hang around me, you’ll heal really slowly. We could probably nurse it, get an extra week.”

“I don’t think that’ll work, darling,” Lucifer answers gently. 

She can’t stand the pity that’s crept into his tone again. She needs him to smile, to be normal; she doesn’t want to live another several months — or longer — haunted by the sad, desperate look in his eyes that he had on that balcony. She doesn’t know if she can bear it.

“Come on,” she says, teasing the way he did hours ago in the car. “I’ll write you a note.”

Lucifer huffs a small laugh into her hair. 

“Dear Lucifer’s Dad,” Chloe goes on, “please excuse him from his duties as ruler of the underworld—”

Lucifer’s laughing a little harder now.

“—because he got shot protecting his silly human. Again.”

Lucifer’s laugh tapers off. He holds her close for a moment, then says, almost too quiet for her to hear, “You are, you know.”

“What?”

“My silly human,” he answers. “Without the silly part, of course.” 

Chloe breathes deeply, again soaking him in, trying to commit this moment to memory. “I like the sound of that,” she says.

It’s the same thing he said this afternoon, and it feels even more true now — they belong to one another. And if she believes it hard enough, maybe the universe, or God, or whatever, will see that and have mercy on her. Maybe she’ll wake up tomorrow and find that this was a dream, and that he’s here to stay. 

She doesn’t mean to nod off, but her limbs are heavy, her eyes incapable of staying open.

“This was a good last day,” Lucifer says into the dark silence, which brings her back.

“Not really,” she slurs.

“It was a good day,” he insists. “A proper send-off.”

That has Chloe’s eyes opening again. _This is a goodbye,_ she’d told Dan earlier. She wishes that she’d been wrong. 

“I didn’t want a proper send-off,” she says.

“I know,” he acknowledges. “But I’m glad we got one.”

“Is that what you asked Him for?” she asks softly.

She wants to know more — about what favor Lucifer might owe his Father, about Trixie’s role in all this, about what happens now — but given the way he’s staying silent, she doesn’t think there’s much chance that he can answer her, even if he wants to. 

“I need my partner,” she says instead. “I think today proved that. I can’t do this without you.”

“Yes, you can,” Lucifer replies. He shifts under her, pulling gingerly away. Chloe lets him go, rolling onto her side so they’re face-to-face. “You are intelligent, capable, and so very strong. You don’t need me.”

“I literally would have died today if you weren’t there,” Chloe reminds him. 

Lucifer sighs. “Okay, but you could have had a different partner do that part. Perhaps Daniel would take a bullet for you,” he adds brightly.

She doesn’t give him the laugh he’s obviously seeking. She reaches out and takes his hand. “I need _you.”_

Lucifer shakes his head, a rustle against his pillow. “If today proved anything, it’s that you don’t. I have every confidence that you’ll be just fine without me.”

Chloe doesn’t know what more she can say, how else she can explain it. Yes, she’s strong; yes, she’s capable; yes, she’s intelligent — intelligent enough to know that they’re talking about different things. As ever, they’re not on the same page. They’re not even reading the same book — and, really, how can they? They come from different worlds.

She’s never really understood the term _star-crossed lovers_ until right now; and the irony of him being the Light Bringer, the Morning Star, isn’t lost on her. What is she, next to that? How can she hold a candle to his brightness? 

Yes, she can get by without him. Yes, she will be fine. But will her world ever be whole again?

She supposes that she’s going to find out soon enough. 

She sighs and turns over onto her back, staring at the ceiling. After a moment, Lucifer does the same. They’re holding hands. Behind them, on the other side of the window, the city is beginning to awaken — traffic noise is steadily growing, drifting up from several storeys below. Birds are starting to chirp. Soon, the sun will rise. Chloe wonders if Lucifer’s namesake is visible in the sky, but she can’t bear the idea of going to the balcony to look. 

“What’s gonna happen?” she asks. “At the time? When you have to go?”

“I don’t know,” Lucifer replies. “I suppose one of my siblings will come and collect me. Can’t imagine Dad trusts me to leave on my own.”

“Probably not,” Chloe agrees, but then an absurd idea strikes her, and she chuckles.

“What?” asks Lucifer, turning his head. 

“Just wondering if it’s like _Cinderella,”_ says Chloe. “You think you’ll turn into a pumpkin?”

He stares at her for a beat, and then he laughs. It’s a beautiful, joyful sound — and Chloe laughs with him. It’s wonderfully soothing, easing the anxious knot in her chest.

“No, I don’t think I’ll be turned into a pumpkin, darling,” he says, when they’ve settled somewhat. “Pillar of salt, maybe—”

“Don’t give Him any ideas!” cries Chloe, which gets them going again. 

There’s an edge of mania to their giddiness, and soon they’re both giggling at the ceiling, side-by-side, lost in it, unable to stop. Chloe’s reminded of every single sleepover where she’s had to tell Trixie and her best friend to stop laughing and go to sleep. 

_Sorry, Mommy,_ Trixie said to her once, _but everything is funny in the middle of the night._

Everything _is_ funny in the middle of the night, Chloe has to agree. Especially when you’ve been awake for almost twenty-four hours straight, and your immortal lover/partner/best friend is getting dragged back to Hell in the morning. It’s madness, is what it is. 

She laughs long enough that she thinks she could cry, if she had any tears left to shed, and together, they finally wind down. 

Lucifer inches closer and puts his arm around her. She turns, and he kisses her. It’s soft and lingering, gentle enough that she feels her fatigue start to creep up on her again, slowly but surely. 

“Sleep, love,” Lucifer says, and she nods, closes her eyes. 

“I set an alarm,” she tells him. “So we’ll have a few hours in the morning.”

“It is the morning,” Lucifer points out, and Chloe doesn’t argue. Sleep is lapping at her like a wave, and she begins to surrender to its pull.

She’s almost under when he whispers, “Today was enough for me, Chloe. I hope you remember that. I won’t hold any grudges. I’ll always love you, no matter what you decide.”

 _Decide?_ Chloe thinks, but sleep tugs at her again, and she’s out before she can ask.


	13. Chapter 13

When Chloe opens her eyes, the room is bright. Too bright. She sits up with a sharp gasp and fumbles on the bedside table for her phone.

The screen is littered with notifications: a text from Maze, a couple emails from work. An alert that says she missed her alarm. And of course, the clock. 

“No,” she whispers, as 9:58 becomes 9:59. “No, no, no—”

She turns to wake Lucifer — they only have a minute left, there’s not enough time—

But she stops just short of touching him. He looks at peace. Wholesome and young, more innocent than she’s ever seen him. If she wakes him, she’ll have to watch him suffer, have to see her despair reflected in his eyes.

And worse, she’ll have to hear him say goodbye again. 

She lies back down at his side. He turns, reaching for her even in sleep, and he sighs, contented, when she’s back under his arm. Chloe curses the tears that she can’t seem to fight off anymore, terrified that they’ll wake him and ruin this last moment. She holds on as tightly as she dares. Whoever’s coming to get him, she vows, they’ll have to tear her away. 

“I love you,” she says into his skin. “I love you, I love you, I—”

When the clock turns from 9:59 to 10:00, Lucifer stops breathing.

Chloe raises her head in alarm. She shoves two fingers against his throat— no pulse.

“You son of a bitch,” she says to his Father, getting up on her knees at once. 

She yanks Lucifer down off the pillow and tilts his chin back, opening his airway. He’s still not breathing. She locates the proper place on his sternum and starts compressions. His recent injury complicates things, but maybe she can save him. If his Father thinks this is how He’s getting him back, He can damn well fight her for him.

She’s done one round of compressions and bends down to breathe into his mouth when something catches her eye outside the window. She ignores it at first — Lucifer is her top priority — but then she does a double take because what she’s seeing—

It’s impossible. A pigeon is stopped in mid-fight, its feathers splayed wide but perfectly still. And beyond the bird, a grey shape against the blue sky— a plane with a fresh contrail behind it, frozen in place. 

Chloe suddenly realizes that, aside from her breathing, the room is dead silent. No traffic noise, no hum of air conditioning, no wind outside the window.

“What the f—”

“Hello, Chloe,” says a voice from behind her.

Chloe whirls around. At the entrance to Lucifer’s bedroom, there’s a woman — an angel — that she’s never seen before. She is breathtakingly beautiful, with warm brown skin that shimmers in places as if she’s been brushed with gold. Some of her dark hair is twisted with blue ribbon into a complicated ring on top of her head, while the rest descends behind her shoulders in innumerable, immaculate braids. Her cream-colored wings sparkle like morning sunlight on a river, and her navy dress flows around her legs as she steps forward. She is, Chloe notices, barefoot. 

“Who are you?” she asks, stunned. The angel is close enough now that Chloe can look into her eyes. Like rare brown opal, they glint with many colors — brilliant blue, sea-foam green, deep red, and yet more gold.

The angel smiles. “In the Silver City I am known as Metatron. I am my Father’s voice, scribe to the Divine.”

As she did when Azrael spoke, Chloe somehow feels Metatron’s words ring within her, as if she is a tuning fork, sensitive to their resonance. Her own voice, in comparison, is harsh and small, but she has to ask.

“Lucifer’s not dead, is he?” 

“No,” Metatron assures her. “Merely out of time.”

Chloe looks at Lucifer again, still not moving, and out the window at the stationary bird and plane. She realizes that Metatron speaks both figuratively and literally. “You stopped time?” 

Metatron’s eyes change. Her beautiful, enigmatic irises disappear into pure white light, almost too bright to look at. “I did.”

Chloe’s mouth goes dry, her heart accelerating in her chest, as she understands Who just spoke  _ — I am my Father’s voice. _

She shuffles away from Lucifer and sits at the edge of the mattress. She is painfully aware of the fact that she is wearing nothing but Lucifer’s shirt over her underwear and tries to tug the fabric down, to cover up. She feels unworthy, inadequate, and unprepared — at least Job got a storm to warn him that God was coming to visit. 

“So you’re here to take him back?” she says, her eyes downcast.

“I am here with a message,” answers Metatron, which surprises Chloe into looking up. Her wings have folded into nothing, and her eyes have returned to the way they were before God spoke. She looks almost human — as if any human could be this Divine. “From my Father to you, Chloe Decker, His miracle.”

Chloe frowns at the word. Maybe God calls everyone that. “Miracle?” she repeats. 

“Miracle,” Metatron confirms. “Your parents were unable to bear a child. The only reason you were born is due to a blessing directly from my Father.”

Chloe’s mouth falls open. Her mother has often recounted that, when she and her father decided they wanted children, the doctor told them it would be impossible.  _ Yet here you are,  _ her mother always concluded cheerfully. Chloe had grown tired of hearing the story by her tenth birthday, and she’d never put any real stock in it. 

“You were created specifically so you would meet my brother here,” Metatron goes on.

Chloe blinks, processing this. “What?”

“You were meant to meet,” Metatron reiterates. “My Father put you in Lucifer’s path.”

“Why?” Chloe can’t help but ask. 

Metatron’s eyes flash — brown to white to brown again — almost too quick for Chloe to catch. 

The angel says, “My Father’s reasons are His own.”

Chloe hears Ella’s words from before, how she summarized Job’s response to God:  _ You know what, dude, you’re right, I am nothing.  _ Faced with a similar situation now, Chloe can completely see where Job was coming from. 

Still... 

“Is that why his powers don’t work on me?” she asks. “Why I make him vulnerable?”

Metatron’s eyes close, and when they reopen, they are blinding white again. “Yes and no,” God says. “You are immune to Divine and Infernal effects, but Lucifer is responsible for the changes to his own form, whether he is conscious of it or not.”

Chloe knows this, she’s seen it firsthand, but— “But he wouldn’t, if You hadn’t put me here,” she counters, even as Metatron’s eyes dim once again. “It’s all pre-determined.”

“On the contrary,” Metatron replies gently. 

She sounds kind, and Chloe wonders what sort of agency she has. Surely she’s not been around humans enough to develop the sort of free will that Amenadiel and Lucifer have, but there’s also something different about her; she doesn’t strike Chloe as a mindless drone, doing her Father’s bidding, the way Maze described angels who have never Fallen.

“My Father may have set you on this path,” she goes on, “but you have chosen to walk it. You have chosen Lucifer, and he has chosen you, time and again. A myriad of choices, large and small, has led you both here.” 

“And where is here?” Chloe asks, a note of desperation creeping in now. “What is this all for? What’s the point?”

“You are being asked to make another choice,” says Metatron. “My brother has brokered a deal. One that none of us thought possible.”

“He’s good at that,” Chloe can’t help but add.

Metatron’s lips twitch like she wants to laugh. “He is perpetually surprising,” she agrees. She pauses, takes a breath. “This day has been a trial,” she says. “My Father has tested you.”

Chloe meets the angel’s crystalline eyes and wonders if there might be an apology buried in them — one that can’t be spoken aloud. 

“Did I pass?” she asks.

“You have earned the right to make this choice,” Metatron answers cryptically. “Just as my brother has learned the lesson that he must respect it.”

Chloe wants to skip the riddles and get to the point, but she forces herself to sit still and be patient while Metatron’s eyes start to glow once more.

“Whether he stays or goes is up to you,” Metatron’s Father intones. “If you so choose, I will intercede and appoint another to rule Hell. Lucifer will remain on Earth until your natural death.”

There is a pause, and Chloe knows it’s because she has a question that she’s almost too afraid to ask. “What happens then?”

“You will be barred from the Silver City for all eternity, as Lucifer is.”

“So I go to Hell,” Chloe summarizes. “I trade a life with him for an eternity of suffering.”

Metatron — God — does not answer. She doesn’t even blink, her glowing eyes locked on Chloe.

Chloe is reminded, oddly, of Lucifer — of the way he evades questions he doesn’t want to answer, the way he tells enough of the truth that others will jump to a conclusion and fill in the blanks, so he can bluff, find loopholes, and get away without technically telling a lie. 

_ Like Father like son,  _ she thinks, and Metatron tilts her head with the barest hint of a smile. 

“If I choose this, will I suffer in Hell for all eternity?” Chloe asks, because, as with Lucifer, it’s all about asking the right questions.

“No,” God answers. Chloe waits, but there is no follow-up.

“Will Lucifer be forced to torture me?”

“No,” comes the answer again. 

“Will any demon torture me?”

“No.”

“But I will never see Heaven, and never see anyone I know who is destined for Heaven?”

“Correct,” says God.

Chloe draws in a deep breath. Trixie’s face fills her mind at once. Could she bear being separated from her daughter until the end of time? 

At least if she knows Trixie is in Heaven, she could find peace in that. But what if her daughter enters Hell? Unlike her mother, she would be damned to an eternity of suffering. Could Chloe handle knowing that, and, worse, knowing that there was nothing she could do about it? 

Her eyes fall on the red pocket square that Lucifer tossed aside a few hours ago. She thinks back to the stairwell, when she inhaled its scent, and Trixie pointed out that she had ash on her nose. 

She hears Lucifer’s words again:  _ I’m surprised Dad’s patience has lasted this long. _

And Trixie’s question later, in the car:  _ Doesn’t Lucifer’s Dad love him, too? _

Chloe didn’t get a chance to ask Lucifer about it directly, but she doesn’t need to be a detective to put two and two together and see that they’ve been talking, and that they’ve made some kind of arrangement. Even if they haven’t, however, Chloe is certain that Lucifer would never hurt Trixie — no matter what his Father had to say about it. 

So, if Trixie goes to Heaven without Chloe, she’ll be fine, and if Trixie goes to Hell, she’ll likely be just as fine. But what about the other people she knows? And those she’s known who have already passed on? She thinks of Amenadiel’s words about her father, about Charlotte. She thinks of her mother, and Linda, and Ella, and Dan. Amenadiel and Charlie will also be out of her reach, as angels. 

But as long as Trixie’s okay, knowing that the others are safe and happy, even if she doesn’t see them — that could be enough.

She turns back, looking over her shoulder at Lucifer, still frozen in the awkward position she pulled him into when she thought he was dying. She climbs up on the bed and rearranges his limbs, closing his mouth and propping a pillow under his head again. She lightly touches his hand before she turns away, and despite the fact that she’s keeping God waiting, she ducks and kisses his forehead, too.

Then, she gets to her feet and straightens her shoulders, looks into Metatron’s glowing white eyes.

“I will accept your deal on one condition,” she says.

“Name it,” says God. 

Being able to read her mind, He doesn’t need her to, but perhaps it’s like a ritual, and it’s best to speak these things aloud. She does so, carefully choosing her words.

“When Lucifer resumes his reign after my death, once per Earth year, that’s once every 365 Earth days, he will be granted one vacation day. Twenty-four Earth hours, to go wherever he likes—”

Metatron’s shining eyes flash.

“Except Heaven, obviously,” Chloe clarifies, not that she thinks Lucifer would choose to go there, “and do whatever he likes, with whomever he likes. Another angel or demon, or what-have-You can handle Hell in his place for one day. I think he’s earned that,” Chloe adds, in a daring act of bravery.

_ Or stupidity,  _ she thinks, when God doesn’t answer for a long, long moment. She swallows hard but forces herself to keep her chin up, to stare into those all-knowing eyes. He could refuse her, He could take His deal off the table, He could smite her down right this very moment, but Chloe will not look away.

“You have proven yourself worthy, My miracle,” God answers finally. “As I knew you would. You were born to make such a choice.”

Chloe isn’t sure what that means. Her heart hammers anxiously in her chest. Her palms are sweating. “So... do we have a deal?” 

“I accept your condition. We have a deal,” God agrees. “You walk with the Devil, and when you are no more, the Devil will take you, and Hell will have a Queen.”

“What?!” Chloe cries, but God’s light goes out of Metatron’s eyes as abruptly as if someone flicked a switch. “No, wait!”

But He is gone. Metatron beams at her.

“What?” Chloe says again. She can’t process this. “What just happened?” 

“Congratulations,” says Metatron. “You will be the second to transcend your station.”

The words mean nothing to Chloe. Her brain keeps shouting  _ Queen of Hell?!  _ at top volume.

“I must say, you drive a hard bargain,” Metatron adds. 

“Well, if I’d... I didn’t...” Chloe trails off, unable to finish the sentence. She feels light-headed and sways on her feet. Metatron steps closer and lays a hand on her shoulder. 

“Goodbye, Chloe Jane Decker,” she says. “It was an honor to have met you. I will never see you again.”

Chloe nods. “Yeah,” she says slowly, because holy — literally,  _ holy  _ — shit, it’s starting to sink in, what she just did. “Yeah, thanks, it— it was an honor to meet you, too.”

With one more smile, Metatron unfolds her wings. “Tell my brother I said hello,” she says, and then she disappears.


	14. Chapter 14

The world rushes back into motion: the pigeon flaps its wings, the jet’s engine drones across the sky. Traffic resumes its flow outside; the air conditioner hisses to life.

Chloe lowers herself to sit on the bed again. She can’t stop staring at the place where Metatron had just been, and she wishes she could believe it was all a dream.

God said she’d proven herself worthy — not that she feels it — but what did it mean? What did Metatron mean when she said she would transcend? What was God talking about when He said the Devil would take her? And how — she cannot stress this enough — _how_ is she, Chloe Jane Decker, going to be the Queen of Hell? It doesn’t even seem possible.

An exceptionally loud siren wails on the street below, and Lucifer startles awake behind her before she can come up with any answers. She shakes herself out of her daze and turns to find him sitting up. 

“What’s the time?” he asks, running his right hand over his face.

Chloe glances at her phone on the bedside table. To her surprise, the screen hasn’t gone dark yet, even though everything has changed since the last time she looked at it.

“Ten-oh-one,” she answers. 

She watches the news sink in, and she knows he knows what has just happened. 

Sure enough, he says, “You took the deal.”

“I did,” Chloe affirms. She smiles, but Lucifer looks worried and almost sad. 

“You gave up a chance at Heaven for an earthly life with me,” he says. He shakes his head. “Why?”

 _Better to rule in Hell,_ Chloe thinks, but she doesn’t say that. Instead she sighs and turns fully, sitting cross-legged on the mattress. His leg brushes hers as he pushes himself back to sit up against the headboard the way he was when she walked in last night. 

“I told you,” Chloe answers, “I’m not afraid of Hell.”

“You should be,” Lucifer says softly. 

“Probably,” Chloe acknowledges. “But it’s not like I’ll be suffering.”

“Just being there is suffering enough,” Lucifer mutters. Then he exhales. “But you’re right. You and your spawn, should she end up there, will not be tortured under my reign. That clause was non-negotiable.”

Chloe looks up, surprised out of her thoughts about her own afterlife. “You arranged that for Trixie?” 

“Of course,” says Lucifer, like it’s obvious. 

Chloe’s vision blurs, but she keeps the tears back and takes his hand. “Thank you,” she says. “I knew you were looking out for her.”

“It’s hard not to,” Lucifer admits. “She’s almost as tenacious as you. If not for her, I doubt my Father would have agreed to any of this.”

Chloe thinks back to the way that Metatron’s eyes flashed. _My Father’s plans are His own._

“I don’t know about that,” she replies. She opens her mouth, about to ask him to explain the deal she agreed to, but Lucifer speaks first.

“I take it you saw Metatron,” he says.

Chloe nods and lets herself be distracted from the heavy topic. “She says hello.” 

Lucifer smiles. His voice is fond. “It’s been millennia since I’ve seen her. Is she still as radiant as ever?”

“Yeah,” Chloe replies, then she nudges his leg playfully. “You’re not the only one in the family with good genes.”

“Oh, we’re not related,” says Lucifer. 

Chloe frowns, confused. “She called you her brother.”

“Well, perhaps, technically, but—” Lucifer waves a hand. “It’s complicated. Metatron wasn’t created like the rest of us. She was... adopted, let’s say.”

And here Chloe thought she was beginning to get a handle on his family tree. “So... she’s your step-sister?”

Lucifer tilts his head like he’s never thought of it that way before. “In a manner of speaking, yes, I suppose so,” he says. “But before you go looking it up on Wikipedia, you should know that humans got her story all wrong. Said she was a man, for starters, and gave her the same name as Cain’s son, which is frankly ridiculous, not to mention confusing.”

“Good to know,” says Chloe, because she isn’t sure how else to reply.

Lucifer nods, and then, as if conceding a point she didn’t raise, he adds, “They got one thing right at least: ‘Enoch walked with God, and he was no more, for God took him.’”

Chloe’s blood runs cold as she hears God’s words echo through her: _You walk with the Devil, and when you are no more, the Devil will take you._

“Pronouns aside, that’s pretty much exactly how it happened. And I would know,” Lucifer goes on, oblivious to Chloe’s growing panic. “I was there when she transcended after her death, but given that I was already banned from the Silver City by then, I’ve never actually seen her in all her glory.” 

“She transcended,” Chloe repeats in a whisper. Her heart is now thumping in her chest, and she’s not entirely sure she’s breathing. “She was human.”

“Yes, she became a Divine Being after her death,” Lucifer explains. “The only human to be granted such a gift, as far as I know.”

_You will be the second to transcend your station._

Lucifer finally seems to notice that Chloe’s in distress and narrows his eyes at her. “What’s wrong?”

“I—” Chloe begins faintly. She forces herself to ask. “Hell has to be ruled by a celestial, a Divine Being, right?”

“Yes,” Lucifer says, drawing the syllable out. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

Chloe is staring at the mattress unseeingly, unable to look at him, unable to think. She hears herself make a noise that’s almost — not quite — a laugh. 

“The deal,” she says slowly. “It’s what I wanted, I— I just didn’t know what it would entail. I can’t believe you convinced Him to do that.”

“Do what?” Lucifer is looking baffled. “Darling, what are you talking about?”

That brings Chloe up short. Given that Metatron told her Lucifer brokered an impossible deal with his Father, she assumed that he was responsible. That he’d made the deal for her to transcend, to be Queen. That he’d somehow talked his Father into giving her this, so that they could be together. 

But looking into his eyes now, she realizes her mistake. “You didn’t ask for this,” she says.

“Ask for what?” asks Lucifer, not without urgency. 

But Chloe can’t answer right away. If Lucifer didn’t arrange this whole transcendence thing, then...

“Maze was right,” she manages after a moment. “Your Dad really is always playing His own angle.”

“Constantly,” Lucifer agrees without hesitation. His gaze is hard now, his anger simmering just below the surface like his red eyes, waiting for the right moment to break loose. “Did He deceive you? I swear, if He hurts you—”

“No,” Chloe interrupts. “No, Lucifer, I... it’s a good thing. I think,” she adds, forcing her parched throat to swallow before she begins to explain the rest. “Look, the deal is, you’re allowed to stay on Earth until my natural death—”

“Yes, I got that part,” he interrupts her. “Then after you die, you go with me to Hell for eternity. No suffering, aside from just being there. But what exactly did my Father rope you into, Detective?”

Chloe meets Lucifer’s eyes again and says, “He told me Hell will have a Queen.”

It is the first and only time she’s known him to be stunned into complete silence. 

* * *

When he can speak again, Lucifer suggests they have breakfast before going over every detail of her conversation with his Father, and Chloe agrees that it’s a good idea. Eating together — with her partner, her best friend, her lover — is a refuge of normalcy in a morning that’s been anything but.

After, she’s sitting on the balcony. It’s the first time she’s been out here since the night he left, and it couldn’t be more different: the blue sky stretches endlessly around her, and a light, ocean-scented breeze plays with the ends of her hair. Remnants of the sumptuous meal Lucifer ordered for them are spread before her on the small table, and she’s waiting for him to return with fresh coffee from his fancy machine.

With a gentle gust of wind, Amenadiel descends from the sky. “I understand congratulations are in order,” he greets Chloe with his usual warm smile. 

“Apparently,” Chloe agrees. She glances back at the sliding door behind her just in case, but she can still hear the grinder running; she has a few minutes until Lucifer returns. “Did you know about this?”

“No,” Amenadiel answers. “Since I’ve settled here on Earth, I haven’t really had my ear to the ground, so to speak.”

“To the sky, more like,” Chloe says, and Amenadiel chuckles. 

“True. But no, I only knew what Lucifer told me yesterday.”

“Which was?”

“That he and Father had made an arrangement, and you were being tested,” Amenadiel says. He hesitates. “I wish I could have told you, but my Father is very strict when it comes to His tests.”

“I understand,” says Chloe, She huffs out a laugh. “Even if you had told me, I don’t think I would have believed you.”

Amenadiel smiles faintly. “Still. I was worried for your safety,” he admits. “The last time Lucifer and Father did something like this, and a human got caught in the middle...”

“Yeah, I heard about Job,” Chloe says.

“Poor Job,” Amenadiel agrees, shaking his head. “Anyway. After you left yesterday, I went up and asked, but I couldn’t learn anything more than what Lucifer had already told me. And I certainly heard nothing about your upcoming transcendence. Clearly that was a card my Father played very close to the chest.”

Just hearing the word is enough to make Chloe’s heart speed up, and she forces herself to breathe out slowly. “Still getting used to the idea myself,” she says.

Amenadiel places a steady hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be all right, Chloe.”

“Thanks,” Chloe replies. Even though it’s now been confirmed that she’s immune to Divine influence, she swears she can feel calm radiate from his touch. Or maybe he’s just her friend, and it feels nice to have a friend comfort her.

“I wish I knew why,” she adds after a moment. At Amenadiel’s questioning look, she adds, “Why I would be granted this.”

“You’ve proven yourself worthy,” Amenadiel replies. “Many times over.”

“It can’t be that simple,” Chloe protests. Behind her, she notices she can no longer hear the sounds of the coffee machine; Lucifer will be back any second. She speaks quickly and quietly. “This isn’t a trap or something, is it? Some kind of mind game your Dad’s playing with Lucifer?”

“No,” Amenadiel says, firm and certain. “My Father’s word is His bond, Chloe. I assure you, there is no trickery here, no manipulation.”

Chloe wants to know more, she wants to ask how he knows that, but she hears the patio door slide open behind her, and a second later Lucifer steps outside carrying two mugs. 

“Brother,” he says cheerfully, sipping his own. “Apologies, if I’d known you were coming, I would have made another cup.”

“It’s all right, I can’t stay,” says Amenadiel, stepping back from Chloe. “I just wanted to see how you were doing, and to welcome my new sister to the family.”

Lucifer pulls a face. “That’s sister _-in-law_ to you, please.”

Amenadiel laughs. “Fair enough.” He unfurls his wings again, but glances at Chloe. “Seriously, well done. Text Linda when you can, she wants to have everyone over for dinner soon to celebrate.”

“I will,” Chloe promises, and Amenadiel takes off. She tries to watch him go, but he moves too quickly for her eyes to track. 

“New sister,” Lucifer repeats under his breath. “Honestly.”

Chloe chuckles. “Any more of your siblings gonna drop in?” she asks. “I mean, at least I’m wearing something over my underwear this time, but—”

“Much to my chagrin,” Lucifer adds, eyeing the boxers she pulled on before they left the bedroom. Despite his words, she can tell that he likes her wearing his clothes almost as much as she does. 

He shakes himself slightly and offers her the other cup with a slight bow. “Your coffee, my Queen,” he says, which makes Chloe blush.

“Yeah, I’m not sure I’m ever gonna get used to the title,” she says. 

“Well, assuming Dad keeps His word — and I’ll fight Him tooth and nail if He tries to weasel out of it — you’ll have lots of time to adjust,” Lucifer replies, taking his place opposite her at the table.

 _Right,_ Chloe thinks. _Immortality._ She gulps. “I guess it just doesn’t feel real yet,” she tells him. 

“It will,” Lucifer assures her. He’s still got that awe-struck sort of glow that fills his eyes when he looks at her; she isn’t sure she’ll get used to that, either. She pulls herself back to the matter at hand.

“How about, for now, we just stick to Detective?” she says. “Or Chloe. Might be kind of hard to explain the new nickname, you know?”

Lucifer’s eyebrows hop up and down — a familiar expression that makes no promises. “As you wish, my Queen.” 

Chloe shakes her head and decides to let it lie for now. There’s something she forgot to tell him, after all. “I just remembered, there’s another part of the deal,” she says.

Lucifer drops all playfulness at once. “What is it?”

“I bargained for some vacation time,” Chloe answers quickly, before he can worry too much. “I told your Dad you deserved a day off every year — one Earth day, every Earth year,” she specifies. “And He agreed.”

Lucifer is looking dumbfounded again, but also a little intimidated. If she didn’t know him better, she’d think maybe there was some fear behind his eyes.

“Or— well, He accepted the condition, anyway,” Chloe amends, when he doesn’t speak. 

“Yes, I can’t see Him _wanting_ me to take time off,” Lucifer answers at last. He cocks his head, looking at her with renewed fascination. “You actually told Him that,” he says. It’s not quite a question.

“I did,” Chloe affirms. She thinks about adding how terrified she was to do so, but she has a feeling she’s talking to one of the few people on the planet who already knows that. 

“Huh,” is all he says, but he leans across the table a moment later and gives her a long, coffee-flavored kiss. “My Queen,” he says again, soft and fond, when they part. 

Chloe smiles, but lets it fade away after only a few seconds. “You really didn’t know?” she asks.

Lucifer shakes his head. “No.”

“I thought maybe you asked for it,” she explains. “I thought this was your deal.”

“No,” Lucifer says again. “I asked if I could come back, if there was some way that Hell could manage itself for a little while. Dad said yes, but it would be one day. I thought that was enough so that I could get my affairs in order, and bid farewell to you properly.”

“So it _was_ a goodbye,” Chloe summarizes, a little sadly, despite the positive outcome.

“Yes,” Lucifer says in the same tone. He takes a deep breath. “In return, He declared that the day would be a trial for you. He wanted to test you. Didn’t say why, even though I did ask. All He told me was that you would suffer, and I would suffer, but I’d have to accept your decision regardless of what it was.”

“Why did you agree to His terms?” Chloe has to ask.

Lucifer looks away, gives a half-hearted shrug. “Beatrice begged me to try.”

Chloe stares, unsure how to respond to that. Lucifer exhales and continues.

“Dad’s test was simple. After your day with me, He would offer you a choice — life on Earth but eternity in Hell. I presented a counter offer: no torture for you or your child, should she end up there after her death. Dad gave me an earful about how such a thing has never been done before, but He agreed, so long as I swore not to tell you anything.”

So _that_ was the deal that none of the angels thought possible, Chloe thinks. Not that Chloe would become an— a Queen, but that she wouldn’t suffer. She can see how controversial an idea it is, and why Metatron was surprised God agreed, but given what He actually had planned to give Chloe if she accepted, she can also see why He did. 

Lucifer shakes his head again. “I really didn’t think you’d accept, especially not knowing the fate of your spawn. In fact, I was hoping you wouldn’t, for your own sake. So when you asked me to take you to Hell on the roof yesterday, I was....”

“Touchy?” 

“Yes. For which I apologize, my dear,” he says seriously.

“It’s okay,” Chloe replies. “I understand.”

Lucifer nods. “Honestly, I thought the best I could hope for was a good last day together.”

Chloe looks down into the rippling surface of her coffee. “But He had His own plan. He was playing His own game.”

“Evidently,” Lucifer agrees. “Not a surprise, really, but even I didn’t see this coming. No human has transcended for millennia; I didn’t think it was possible anymore.”

Chloe feels her breathing pick up again at the mention of the T-word, and she changes the subject. “You know, I overheard you and Trixie on the stairs yesterday,” she says.

Lucifer blinks and gets that familiar, too-innocent look about him. “Oops,” he says. “Didn’t know you were there.”

It’s not convincing in the slightest, and Chloe laughs, breaking the tension that had begun to creep in. Lucifer sips his coffee, and it barely covers his smirk. Chloe does the same. 

“So she knows the truth?” she asks a minute later, more seriously.

“She’s always known,” Lucifer replies. “Children have faith,” he adds, no doubt seeing that she doesn’t believe him. “They take what you tell them at face value, generally, and don’t feel the need to rationalize everything to death.”

Chloe nods. He’s right, of course, but it’s still a bit unsettling to think that her daughter was able to discover and accept Lucifer’s true identity so long before she did. “You said she prays to you?”

“All the time,” Lucifer answers, with a slight roll of his eyes. “For thousands of years I’ve managed to block them out, but for some reason, with Beatrice, I just... can’t. No idea why.”

 _Because you care about her,_ Chloe thinks about saying, but she doesn’t — she knows how temperamental he can get when others try to tell him what he’s feeling. 

“Speaking of,” Lucifer goes on after a second, his eyes moving to the distance, as he appears to listen to a sound from far off. “She wants to know if I’m still here, if I’m all right, and—” He frowns. “She’s also complaining quite a bit about the granola bar that she had to take for a snack today. Apparently there are—”

“No chocolate chips,” Chloe says with him, and rolls her eyes. “I know. She has such a sweet tooth. It’s ridiculous.”

“Oh, let her have the chocolate ones,” Lucifer says, waving a hand dismissively. “What’s the harm?”

Chloe raises an eyebrow. “When she gets a dozen cavities, will _you_ pay the dentist?”

She’s expecting him to laugh, or maybe scoff, but he doesn’t. “Of course,” he says seriously. “I worked it all out with Maze last night. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer this afternoon.”

He drinks the rest of his coffee as if the matter is settled, but Chloe has no idea what he’s talking about. “I’m sorry, what?”

“My assets,” he explains, setting his empty mug on the table. “I told you, I wanted to get my affairs in order. Everything I have is yours, should anything happen to me. I thought, given that I’d be leaving this morning, I’d make sure you and the urchin were taken care of.”

Chloe is genuinely touched and, once more, she doesn’t know what to say. 

“Mind you,” he continues, “since I’m not going anywhere now, I’ll have to insist that I keep my cars, but other than that—”

Chloe leans across the table and cuts him off with another kiss. “What’s mine is yours, too,” she tells him when they part. “My King,” she adds softly. 

To her surprise, he doesn’t preen or act smug about the title. He just smiles, pulls her up from the table, and kisses her again.


	15. Chapter 15

They start slow — they have time. 

Chloe lets herself sink into the kiss, opening to it when his tongue brushes the seam of her lips, leaning into his touch when he brushes her hair off her shoulder. She slips her hands into his loosely tied silk robe and traces the jut of his hips around to his lower back, rubbing the tight muscle there. 

His mouth, sticky-sweet with coffee, becomes more insistent. His long, sure fingers find the buttons on the white shirt — his white shirt — that she’s still wearing. He pushes the fabric back and cups her bare breasts. In return, she dips her hands under the waistband of his pants and gives his ass a firm squeeze.

“Ooh,” he says, pulling back with surprise. “I like that.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Chloe replies, thinking back to their stolen minutes in the closet yesterday. “Should we take this inside?”

He skates his thumbs over her tight, sensitive nipples, and kisses her throat when she reacts with a gasp. “Why? No one can see us up here, and if they can, well, maybe they’d enjoy the show.” 

The low thrum of his voice against her skin sends a cascade of shivers down her body. Heat is pooling between her legs, and she’s tempted — she’s really tempted. But there’s no way she’s coming in her clothes this time, and there’s no way he’s coming without her again.

“I want to do this right,” she tells him. “I want lots of room to work with.”

She watches his reaction — his pupils expand, his breath catches — and then he’s on her again, kissing her deeply. He walks her backwards until she’s flat against the warm glass of the sliding door. He crowds her here, breathing hard into the crook of her neck. His loose pants leave little to the imagination; his erection presses needily into her belly. She closes her eyes and rocks her hips, chasing the barely-there friction of his clothes against her skin.

There’s a click from behind her, and she suddenly realizes his closeness had an ulterior motive — he was opening the door. She’s disappointed for a split-second before his hands settle under her thighs and he lifts her. She laughs in surprise and wraps her legs around him. 

“Watch your head, love,” he murmurs into her neck. She ducks slightly as they cross the threshold, and he barely pauses to close the door behind them before he’s taking her straight through the living room, past the piano, and up the steps to his bed. He sits on the mattress, and she shifts to her knees, straddling him.

“You like being on top,” he says. 

He sounds cocky, but not as cocky as she’d expect. She reminds herself that he’s flying blind here; he can’t draw out her desires the way he would with anyone else, because she’s a miracle, and she’s immune to his influence, and when she dies— 

“Yes,” she answers, before her thoughts can fall too far down the Divine rabbit-hole. “Yes, I like it.”

“Me too,” he says, his fingers brushing her hair aside. “I like anything with you.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Chloe says again, with a teasing smile. 

He makes a noise low in his throat and buries his face in her breasts. She gasps when his tongue — oh, she  _ loves _ his tongue — circles one of her nipples, then traces a line to the other. It’s so warm and so wet, she arches her back, wanting more, but he pulls away. Her shirt, she notices vaguely, is on the floor now, and his fingers are tugging at the shorts and panties that now feel much too tight against her skin.

“If we take these off, I can show you the other things my tongue can do,” he says, his eyes glinting with promise. “Since you love it so much already.”

Did she say that out loud, a second ago? Chloe’s too distracted by the way he’s stroking her through her clothes and can’t figure it out. It doesn’t matter, it’s true. She wants it. She wants to get off on his mouth, then sink down on his cock and ride him.

She scrambles to her feet and divests herself of the shorts and panties, pausing only when his eyes drop, and she remembers that he hasn’t really seen her naked yet — not like this, anyway, not when she wants him so badly. 

“Your turn,” she prompts him, when he doesn’t move.

“Right.” He pushes himself up to his feet and undresses in record time before he steps over to touch her again. 

His hands are fire against her skin, and his cock even more so. She’s burning with him, she chose to burn with him, and she’ll gladly choose to do so every day if it means having him like this. 

“Chloe,” he sighs, and he kisses her thoroughly. Every movement of his tongue in her mouth is a tease, a sample of what’s coming next, and she knows he’s doing it on purpose. Her clit is aching for touch. She can’t wait another minute. 

“How...?” she starts to ask, but Lucifer already has the answer. He pushes the pillows aside and pulls her with him towards the bed. He lies down on his back, and she sees what he wants. 

Despite her desire, a zing of anxiety runs through her. She’s not nearly as experienced as his usual partners — she’s only done this once or twice, and she felt embarrassed and awkward each time. But she trusts him — more than anyone else — so she climbs up anyway, and braces her hands on the headboard before she lowers herself a few inches. 

“Need you a bit closer than that, darling,” Lucifer says below her. “Despite what some might have you believe, I’m not actually a snake.”

The joke calms her somewhat, and she sinks a little lower. “That’s it,” Lucifer encourages her. “Oh, you’re beautiful. My strong, beautiful, wonderful—”

He licks her without finishing his thought. Chloe’s worries evaporate as he drags his hot tongue along her opening to finish with a swirl against her clit. She moans involuntarily, a short abortive sound that she cuts off quickly.

“Don’t be shy,” Lucifer says. He rasps his stubble against her inner thigh, and Chloe feels her legs quiver like they might give out. She tightens her grip on the headboard. 

“I want to hear you,” he adds, his lips moving against her clitoris, right where she needs him the most. It’s simultaneously too much and not enough. 

“Lucifer,” she gasps, and he hums, pleased. The sound radiates through her, a line of heat up her spine, and she rocks her hips, chasing his mouth. 

He stops talking then, and gives her what she wants, what she needs. He zeroes in on her clit with tight, tiny circles, then follows it up with wide, easy strokes. Soon, she’s gripping the headboard so tight it hurts her hands, as he keeps her guessing, his patterns impossible to predict. He takes his time, licking into her like she’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, like zig-zagging his tongue over her is his new favorite hobby. 

When he pauses, a minute or an hour later, she writhes above him, all traces of her earlier hesitation shoved aside by pure, wanton desire.

“Please,” she whines. Her cunt is throbbing, she’s on the edge, desperate.

“Darling,” he soothes her. The word is slurred like his tongue is tired, and she has never wanted anything as badly as she wants him. “I know.”

He does know. There’s no more teasing, no more toying with her. He slides two fingers into her, and the sound she hears herself make is just a distant cousin to an actual word, but he understands it. He thrusts his fingers deep inside while his mouth goes back to work, messy and slick and perfect.

Her pleasure builds, there’s no stopping it, and unlike yesterday she doesn’t give him any warning. He doesn’t let up, licking her firmer, faster, until she’s coming— coming harder and longer than she has in years, riding his fingers, grinding down into his face, her knuckles white on his headboard, her toes curled into his satin sheets. 

He gentles his touch as she drifts down, pulsing arrhythmically around his fingers, his tongue. Finally, she exhales and opens her eyes. 

“Whoa,” she says softly. Her legs shake as she lifts herself off him. 

Lucifer makes a disappointed sound when she pulls away, which surprises her — the other men she’s been with couldn’t wait to stop touching her after making her come — but she slides back anyway and settles with one knee on either side of his thighs. She did have a plan, after all, before he distracted her with one of the best orgasms of her life. 

His cock stands straight up between them, flushed dark, pre-come beading at the hooded tip. She drags her eyes away from it and up along his torso. The bandage on the left side of his chest is wrinkled and peeling, but she likes it. It adds something real to his otherworldly beauty, reminding her that he’s not out-of-reach. He’s really here, and he’s really hers.

And his face is really, really wet. 

If he were anyone else, she might apologize, but Lucifer, noticing her looking, licks his lips with obvious relish and gives her that familiar smug grin. She almost wishes that she didn’t find it so hot, because now that she knows she does, she’s definitely gonna want to let him do it again.

“Condom?” she asks, stroking his cock before he can make fun of her for staring and/or drooling. 

He nods. His right hand reaches towards his bedside table and tugs open the drawer. Just for fun, Chloe licks the tip of his cock while he’s distracted, and he jolts in surprise, nearly knocking the entire table over.

“Detective,” he chides, but he doesn’t say anything else because Chloe’s discovered that one little taste isn’t enough. She tugs his foreskin down, so she can lave the entire surface with her tongue, circling the crown and teasing at the slit, sucking him a little deeper into her mouth. 

She glances up after a moment to find his eyes have closed, his mouth gone slack. Slowly, she draws in his entire length, listening to the way his breathing changes, fascinated by the way his stomach muscles flutter as he shifts under her. When she pulls off, just as slow, she looks up to find him watching her, his pupils blown wide and black. 

“Next time,” he mumbles breathlessly as he grabs one of the pillows and shoves it behind his back to sit up against the headboard.

“Next time what?” Chloe asks, following him up. He opens the condom wrapper, and she backs off enough that he can roll it on.

When he’s finished, he pulls her down into a kiss that’s deep and filthy. She can taste both of them in her mouth now, and she’s sure that’s why he did it when he breaks it off and whispers, “Sixty-nine,” into her ear.

She shivers, and he obviously notices, because he chuckles against her hair. “You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he murmurs, and Chloe’s skin tingles with goosebumps. “Now that you know what I can do, imagine how distracted you’ll be.”

Chloe bites her bottom lip and closes her eyes as he kisses his way down her chest and licks lazily over her nipples. Her mind constructs the fantasy easily: his tongue moving hot and fast against her while his cock fills her mouth. She’s taken aback by how much she wants it — wants everything. 

“We could race,” he goes on. His finger is between her folds now. She doesn’t know when that happened. He glides through the slick traces of her orgasm, and she twitches, still sensitive, when he rubs her clit. “First one to come would get to peg me.”

She laughs suddenly, surprised that she can still be caught off-guard by his confidence, even after all this time. “Watching you do that to yourself does sound like a prize,” she parries back, and he grins, as pleased as he ever is to find they’re evenly matched.

And they are, she realizes, as she moves his hand aside and sinks slowly down on his cock. The relief of having him inside her is almost as sweet and warm as the peace that comes from knowing that they are equals in this, partners in everything. He is more human when he’s with her, and she has chosen to become Divine. They are finally on the same page, finally reading the same damned book.

He bends his knees under her, changing the angle, knocking her out of her thoughts. She pitches forward until she has no choice but to grab the headboard again. He drives his hips up, thrusting deep into her. She clenches around him, and he grunts — she feels a burst of pride, knowing that she can still catch him off-guard, too. 

Their mouths crash together, sloppy and uncoordinated, as they set a pace that Chloe would call too fast were it not for the way he’s gripping her hip almost hard enough to bruise. He’s desperate, needy like she’s never seen him — vulnerable. She pulls away from his kiss to breathe against his neck, to lick away the sweat that’s beading there. It’s salty-sweet on her tongue. She nips at his earlobe and savors the sound he makes, the tiny moan that rings within her. 

She answers in kind a moment later when he works his hand between them, his wet fingertips finding her clit unerringly. She feels everything tighten, almost painfully so, at the overstimulation. She lifts a hand from the headboard. She means to push him away, but this simple motion is all she can accomplish. 

“I—” she tries. “I can’t— not so soon—”

“Yes, you can,” he tells her, and someone-dammit, she believes him. 

Because the uncomfortable feeling is already passing, like he’s managed to sidestep it the way he sidesteps so many other obstacles. Arousal takes its place and grows quickly, like a raging fire, out of control. He lifts her with one hand, holds her until she balances herself on the headboard, then shoves his hips up again, fucking her shallowly with just the tip of his cock. 

“You can,” he reiterates, panting slightly with the effort, “and you will.”

His deft fingers return, a concerto of sensation against her clitoris. She cries out, helpless against him, and squeezes her eyes shut. He’s right, she’s on the verge, she will, she _ is— _

The orgasm overwhelms her, but Lucifer’s grip stays steady and firm. He yanks her down while she’s still coming, and fucks her hard and deep, setting off another wave that lasts and lasts. She’s drunk on it, only distantly aware that the sounds echoing in the room around them are coming from her.

And now him— he raises his voice to match hers, halting the movement of his hips as he comes deep inside her. In a haze, she takes over, riding him through it. She can feel herself contracting around him, and he makes a broken sort of moan when she drops her mouth to his. 

She rocks her hips, slower now, easy like a gentle tide, as the last of their pleasure ebbs.

He opens his eyes. His thumb strokes her cheek. She hadn’t even noticed that a tear had slipped out in the rush of endorphins. The world has narrowed to just this, just his body and hers — and it is enough. It is everything.

“I love you,” he says, after a long moment.

“Love you, too,” she echoes, and then she grins. Joy is filling up her chest like a balloon. “Which is good, since I guess we’re stuck with each other now.”

He chuckles, and she climbs off him, so he can pull out. “I’m sure Dad would let you change your mind,” he says. “You know, the next time I make a mess I make of a case, or what have you.”

Chloe’s smile falls off her face as he gets up to deal with the condom. His words remind her of something troubling, and it takes her a moment to pin down what it is. 

Luke and Lillian, she realizes:  _ You need me to clean up after you, _ Luke had said, in the kitchen when they were discussing Roberta’s murder. Lillian had taken him for granted, acted rashly, knowing that he would enable her and protect her — and now he’s going down with her.

The comparison unsettles her. Is that how Lucifer sees himself? Does he think he’s a burden to be dealt with, that she ought to walk away before things get difficult? Does he think her feelings for him, her presence in his life, is conditional? 

Their road hasn’t been easy — both of them have turned their backs at one point — but they’ve come so far. And, as the last four months and twenty-four hours have proven, they really are better together than they are apart. She’s in this now, she’s not going anywhere, but he still doesn’t believe it.

Lucifer returns to bed, smiling, and leans in for a kiss, but Chloe stops him. 

“I’m not going to change my mind,” she tells him. “I chose you.”

He blinks, and, suddenly, she can see right through him. She knows he’s mentally added two crucial words to the end of her sentence:  _ for now. _

“Yesterday was a test for you too, you know,” she goes on. “Metatron told me that you had to learn a lesson as well.”

Lucifer frowns. He’s got that odd, almost-afraid look about him again, and Chloe can’t stand to see it. 

“You were supposed to learn to accept my choice,” she says, and that animates him again. 

“I do accept your choice,” he tells her. “I will always respect your free will.”

Chloe waits. He drops his gaze and sighs.

“I just don’t understand it,” he confesses in a small voice. “You don’t know what you’re giving up. What an eternity in Hell really means. You can’t know — it’s beyond you.”

“Maybe,” Chloe concedes, “but I know who I’m giving it up for. And why.”

“Why?” Lucifer echoes helplessly. “I can’t be worth all that to you.”

Chloe kisses him, gentle and thorough, until the tightness in his body relaxes, until the worry line that’s creased into his forehead fades a little. She knows, now, how utterly wrong that preacher was, when he told that church full of funeral goers that Hell is the absence of love. Love is not absent in Hell — and even if it was, it won’t be for much longer. 

Not when she’s reigning at Lucifer’s side.

“All that and more,” Chloe tells him. 

He shakes his head in disbelief, but that’s okay. She’ll remind him every day from now until the end of time if that’s how long it takes for him to accept it. And, while he’s on Earth, he’s got a therapist, too, to help him see that he’s worthy. 

She wraps her arms around him and gives him another kiss, the kind of kiss that he was seeking a minute ago. Her body is spent, but his isn’t, and she feels desperate to prove herself, to tell him more than she can say with just words. 

She’s nudged him onto his back and she’s licking her way down his chest when they’re interrupted by the shrill ring of Chloe’s phone. 

“Oh, bloody hell,” Lucifer complains, as she sits up and reaches for it out of instinct. “If you don’t know who it is this time—”

“I’ll let it go to voicemail,” Chloe promises, but then she sees the name on the screen and winces. “Sorry, it’s Trixie.”

“Wonderful timing as usual,” he mutters. Chloe gets to her feet and pulls on Lucifer’s shirt and boxer shorts again. They’re not on video this time, but she wants to be dressed anyway. 

“Hi, monkey,” she greets her daughter, when she’s ready.

“Mommy, hi,” says Trixie hurriedly. “Is Lucifer there?”

Chloe glances over her shoulder. Lucifer is putting on pants, too, and he doesn’t look the least bit surprised. “Yeah, he’s here. Why—?”

Before she can finish the question, Trixie squeals so loud Chloe has to hold the phone away from her ear. 

“You didn’t call this morning, and Maze said she didn’t know if Lucifer’s Dad was gonna let him stay or not, but I’m so happy! Can you pick me up early from school? Can we get pizza tonight, the three of us? Please? Pretty please?”

Lucifer beckons for the phone this time, rather than just taking it, and Chloe covers the microphone.

“No leaving school early and no pizza,” she says in an undertone, “but we can go out for dinner.”

Lucifer nods once, accepting her terms, and Chloe hands him the phone. Instead of lifting it to his ear, however, he puts it on speaker. Trixie’s excited babble fills the room. 

“Pretty please with whipped cream and cherries and chocolate sauce and—”

“Beatrice,” Lucifer says, and Trixie cuts herself off at once. 

“Lucifer! You’re here!” she exclaims. 

“I’m here,” he replies with a smile that warms Chloe’s insides.

“So can you come get me?”

“I don’t think so, monkey,” Chloe replies.

“Come on, please?” 

“Your mother’s right, you shouldn’t leave school early,” Lucifer chimes in.

“It’s only music and Spanish after lunch,” Trixie protests. “I know both those things already.”

Lucifer scoffs. “You can’t possibly know everything there is to know about music. Even I don’t.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Lucifer insists. Chloe waits, and sure enough, his pride makes an appearance. “Mind you, I know more than any human could, but still.”

“Will you teach me?” Trixie asks.

Lucifer’s mouth falls open in surprise. It takes him a moment to answer. “If you wish,” he says finally.

“I’d like that a lot,” says Trixie. “I can’t wait to play your piano.”

_ “My _ piano?” Lucifer repeats incredulously. “No, no, no. Your grubby little fingers aren’t going anywhere near my piano, urchin.”

Chloe laughs. He sounds like himself for the first time since the phone rang.

“I will, however, get you your own instrument,” he goes on.

“Lucifer,” Chloe hisses, with a pointed look. He’s definitely himself again.

“A keyboard, of course,” he adds hastily. “Weighted action, none of that plastic nonsense. And no fewer than 76 keys.” He raises his eyebrows at Chloe. “Deal?” he says quietly.

“Fine. Yes. Deal,” Chloe sighs. He grins exactly as wide as she expected.

“Can we go to the music store tonight and try one out?” Trixie asks. “After dinner?”

“Sure,” Chloe answers. 

“Yay! I’m so glad your Dad let you stay, Lucifer,” Trixie says.

“Well, your mother may have interceded on my behalf,” Lucifer admits, with a fond look. “Otherwise, I would have had to go back.”

“I don’t think so,” says Trixie confidently. “You like it here, and your Dad loves you. He just wants you to be happy.”

Chloe thinks that Lucifer’s going to argue that point, but to her surprise he doesn’t. He’s staring down at the phone, suddenly looking a little lost. 

“Parents want what’s best for their kids,” Trixie concludes wisely. “That’s what Mom always says, anyway.”

Lucifer still doesn’t speak. “I do always say that,” says Chloe, covering the slightly awkward moment of silence. She glances at the clock in the corner of the screen. “Your lunch period is almost over, monkey, you better go eat. I’m off work today, so we’ll pick you up at the final bell, okay?”

“Okay,” Trixie agrees brightly. “Bye Lucifer, bye Mommy, I love you!”

“Love you too,” Chloe echoes and hangs up. 

The room is very quiet without her. Chloe watches Lucifer closely. It’s like he’s turned to stone, or maybe time has stopped again. He barely seems to be breathing. She reaches out cautiously, brushes her fingers against the back of his hand.

He pulls away from her touch, drawing in a sharp breath. His grin is like a mask, and he hops to his feet at once. 

“Endearing little monster, isn’t she?” he says, with forced cheer.

Chloe watches him stride to the closet and back, like he was going to get dressed and changed his mind. Chloe thinks it’s more likely he’s stalling, giving himself time to think. She waits. 

His bandage rustles — he’s rubbing at his wound. “Does it hurt?” she asks.

“No,” Lucifer replies absently. “Just itchy.”

“Come on,” she says, getting to her feet. “Let’s change the dressing, that’ll help.”

He follows her to the bathroom without arguing, and sits on the edge of the tub while she finds the first aid supplies that Amenadiel used yesterday. Carefully, she lifts the edges of his bandage and takes a look. The wound looks weeks old already; a few more hours away from her and he won’t even have a scar. She cleans it — who knows if he can get an infection around her — and opens a new gauze pad. Lucifer watches her work, but his eyes are far away. 

Finally, when she’s applying the tape to the hold the gauze in place, he says, “It can’t be that simple, can it?”

“What can’t?” Chloe asks. 

“Your spawn,” he replies. “What she said a minute ago. That parents want what’s best for their children. It can’t— you don’t think that Dad actually wanted....”

Chloe turns away to toss the gauze wrapper in the garbage and get more tape. She looks into her eyes in the mirror and thinks back to her conversation with the Almighty. 

_ You were born to make such a choice, _ God had told her. 

She will never fully understand His reasoning, but as she turns back to find Lucifer staring, she feels a rush of warm affection in her chest, and thinks that maybe she can glimpse a part of it. The love that’s buried deep,  _ deep _ in His actions. 

“Maybe He did,” she says. “I am a miracle, right?”

“Yes,” Lucifer says fervently, staring up at her like she hung the moon and stars. “You are.”

“So, He made me, put me here to meet you, and we chose each other,” says Chloe. “Maybe that’s exactly the outcome He was hoping for. Maybe it really is that simple.” 

Lucifer doesn’t answer. He waits silently until she’s finished with his bandages and she’s washing her hands, then he stands and crosses the room to wrap her up tightly in his arms. She huffs a surprised laugh and looks up at him in the mirror over the sink, expecting to find him teasing, as usual. 

But his eyes are closed, his nose buried in her hair, and the expression on his face is almost as peaceful as it was when he was asleep in the last minute before she made her choice. 

“Hey,” she says. His eyes are tender when he opens them. “Let’s go back to bed?”

His slow smile is the dawn of a new day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“After all, a parent just wants what’s best for their child.” — God, “Once Upon a Time”_


	16. Epilogue

_ Many Earth Years + 365 Earth Days Later _

“Are you sure they’re not running late?” Chloe asks, her eyes on the slate-colored sky. 

“Positive,” Lucifer replies.

He holds back a smirk, watching her worry. She’s not used to it yet, how the seconds above stretch down here Below. They’ve still got at least another Earth minute until their vacation starts, but he’s not going to tell her that. This year — the first year of their joint rule — has been enough of a learning curve, and he doesn’t want her to feel any more inadequate than she already does. 

Not that she is inadequate, of course. Quite the contrary. She’s as brilliant and capable on the throne as he would have expected. Governance suits her — probably better than it ever suited him, if he’s honest with himself. She was built for this.

As a celestial, she is still more beautiful than anything he’s ever seen. At the moment of her human death, all signs of age melted away. Her hair is long again, and it shines like pure silk. Her newly acquired wings are a coppery hue, more multifaceted than his own, and less likely to appear ash-clogged or dull, even here. And her eyes—

As if she knows he’s thinking of them, she turns. Her eyes take his breath away, as they always do — like blue jasper, they glint with veins of gold. When she laughs they’re light like tropical waters, and when she’s angry they darken, and he swears he can see lightning flash on their horizon. They are the closest he can get to the ocean 364 days a year.

He realizes, after a moment, that she’s asked him something else, that she’s waiting for a response. “Sorry, what was that?” he says. “I wasn’t listening.”

She rolls her stunning eyes, but she’s smiling. “I noticed,” she says. Then she glances anxiously up at the sky again. “I said, are you worried that He won’t let us go together?”

“No,” Lucifer answers at once. Even after all this time, the details of the deal are crystal clear in his memory. “You specified that I can go wherever I like, with whomever I like, on my vacation day. And, well, I like you.”

“I sure hope so,” Chloe laughs. “Gonna be a long eternity otherwise.”

He laughs with her, suppressing the old fear that she still doesn’t know what she’s bargained for, what she’s chosen. A small part of him whispers that she’s going to call her Father-in-law in the middle of the night and beg Him for a way out of the deal, but he tries not to listen. As his new therapist used to tell him — Linda having gone to the Silver City some time ago — his inner doubt will always tell him one story, but the facts draw a different conclusion.

Fact: Chloe stayed with him all those years on Earth, even when they fought. 

Fact: Chloe didn’t once ask his Father to change the deal, even when life threw terrible things at her.

Fact: Chloe is still here, even 365 Earth days after her death.

Conclusion: Chloe is happy with her choice and does not wish to change it.

“Where should we go first?” Lucifer asks, to distract both her and himself from the waiting.

Chloe frowns. “I thought we already decided. Trixie’s meeting us in Rome. She’s probably there right now, she had to book a flight. If you wanted to go somewhere else—”

“No, no, we’re going to Rome,” he says apologetically, not wanting her to worry. “I meant where, specifically, should we go?”

“Oh.” Chloe thinks for a moment. “I’m not picky. Somewhere with gelato?”

Lucifer hums in agreement. He does miss Earthly sweets — Hell’s not home to a lot of bakers, unfortunately, and demons don’t cook much other than meat. 

“And the boyfriend, will he be there, too?” he asks.

“As far as I know,” Chloe replies. “And, you can call him by his name, you know.  _ Boyfriend  _ sounds a little juvenile, considering they’re both widowed and almost sixty.”

“Young to you and me, darling,” Lucifer reminds her, but he’s spared from having to say more, because the sky has at last opened, and a familiar form is descending. 

Charlie looks a lot like his dad, though he has Linda’s smile and calm demeanor. “Uncle Luci,” he greets Lucifer, as he has since he was old enough to talk. “Mom says hi. Aunt Chloe, you’re looking well.”

“Please, she’s gorgeous,” Lucifer protests, which makes Chloe blush. “I take it you’re here to relieve us?”

“I am,” Charlie affirms. “Anything I should know?”

Chloe briefs him quickly on some of the issues they’ve been having — again, queenship suits her — and Lucifer reminds him not to let his guard down. Things have been better than ever with Chloe at his side, but this is still Hell, after all.

“Maze is around here somewhere,” he adds. “Call for her, and she’ll back you up should anything happen.”

Charlie nods. “Sounds like a plan. Enjoy your vacation.”

Lucifer glances at Chloe, asking without words if she’s ready. She unfurls those glorious wings, which is answer enough. Lucifer grins and lets his own wings emerge with a quiet rush of air. 

“Oh, believe me,” he says, taking her hand. “We will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Your support means a lot to me <3 <3 <3
> 
> If you would like to hang out on the Internet, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://mrsd-writes.tumblr.com), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mrsd_writes), and [Dreamwidth](https://mrs-d.dreamwidth.org/).


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